


ZombieTale

by Kamisori



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Blood and Gore, F/M, Female pronouns, Friendship/Love, If you want something you got to write it yourself, Male-Female Friendship, Original Character Death(s), Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Strong Female Characters, Survival, Survival Horror, no beta we die like like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 55,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamisori/pseuds/Kamisori
Summary: There is one true rule here. Survive at all costs.In a world of kill or be eaten, everyday is a struggle.You three just want to escape to a world free of the constant threat of death.Pure naivety.Now suffer the consequences...three is now fifteen.Welcome to the apocalypse, skellies.
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 691
Kudos: 757





	1. ZombieTale

**Author's Note:**

> When you want to read something so you write it yourself!   
> This is a combination of my love of Undertale and my love of zombie games and foraging. While other variations of a ZombieTale AU may exist, I have never read one. Therefore, the ZombieTale AU used in this story is my own twist on our familiar characters and is not inspired by a previous story. On the other hand, if you come across a ZombieTale like story, please let me know! I would love to read it!
> 
> Important Note:  
> Survival tactics used in this story are researched for accuracy, but please do your own research and do not take this story as a guide. Minor liberties are taken with this story and certain steps may be excluded for story flow. Never eat anything without 100% certainty of being able to identify it.  
> Also, after researching what mountain Mount Ebott would most likely be in our world, ZombieTale takes place in the state of Washington.
> 
> Thank you!

The house is empty.

Good.

You and your empty backpack start from the top floor and work your way down. The upper floor has three rooms. Behind the first door is a small bathroom. The bathroom does not have much of interest, but did have a few sealed tampons and sanitary pads. Those will be put to use, one way or another. The next room is a child’s bedroom, a girl’s room perhaps? An unmade bed with a metal frame is the focus of the room. The bed frame has brass nobs on it. A few wacks with your boot knife and those pop off easily enough. There’s a lamp on the night stand. You smash it for the copper wires inside.

Moving to the next room, you note a bigger mattress on a rustic wood frame. There’s a set of pictures of on a dresser of a happy little family of three. You almost sneeze from the thick layer of dust. The dresser has a few pairs of old socks and not much else. A jewelry box of the night stand is empty, someone else got to it first. The closet has a black leather—never mind, pleather—jacket, but it looks warm enough. You wear it instead of taking up your bag space.

Downstairs is made up of four rooms. A study, a kitchen, a living room, and a laundry closet. 

Peaking into the study, you see it’s mostly empty bookshelves, a desk and desk chair. You find a few used pencils and paper scrap in the desk. The living room curtains aren’t pretty, but you fold them up tightly and shove them in your bag. What was once a lovely kitchen is destroyed and picked over, but you do find a small can of peas in the way back of the pantry. The few remaining appliances are broken for their electrical components. There isn’t any high hopes for the laundry closet. You get a few good, but rank smelling, pieces of scrap cloth from a dirty laundry hamper. 

A full bag, you make your way to the front door. A small end table in the entry way is home to a Bible and a tiny sewing kit. You take the kit on your way out. 

The house garage you parked your motorcycle in is cleaned out, but not by you. Clearly this house was tagged by an earlier scavenger group. You secure the full motorcycle satchel before mounting your bike. The engine roars to life. Movement catches your eye as you back out of the garage.

A staggering woman with half her face rotted off. She looks vaguely like the older woman in the picture. You step on the gas to drive away and she tries to run after you, groaning and hissing. You could have taken her—her pants looked about your size too—but the sun is getting low, and you promised your boys you would be back before sundown for dinner.

The crisp early spring air whips through your hair, a pleasant contrast to the reek of decaying carcasses the city air is permeated with. Soon houses turn trees and a familiar homestead surrounded by trees and a wood fence comes into view. You slow down and drive by the main house to the disconnected garage and shed. 

Coming to a stop, you park your bike between the two buildings. It’s a quiet evening. The normal tinkering sounds from the garage are missing tonight, and by the lack of smoke coming from the house, dinner hasn’t been started yet. 

It’s different, and different is never good here.

You reach down to the holstered pistol on your leg and click off the safety. Ditching your backpack on your bike, you quietly walk up to the house, taking extra care to not make a sound. There’s voices inside, some angry. You unlatch your holster, but don’t draw your gun yet.

You slowly and carefully turn the door nob and creep into the house. The figures in the kitchen do not notice your arrival, but you very much so notice them. 

Why are there so many…?!

“Sans, Paps,” you said. Instantaneously, twelve sets of eyes snap to your location, and two sets exhaustively look over.

“I’m home.”


	2. Welcome Guests, We Are Not Expecting You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys! Just wow! I am thrilled at the positive response of the first chapter! Thank you so much!
> 
> I am aiming for this story to continue updating once or twice a week. Please check back soon for new chapters!

Dinner is awkward.

You and the boys are not prepared for guests. Not only are there not enough chairs to seat everyone, the wonderful stew dinner Paps planned for three—with some intended to be leftover for breakfast—is watered down and split between _fifteen_. The three angrier of the guests had been outraged by the meager meal, and made a big show of throwing open the cabinets to search for a meal “befitting of their standards.”

They couldn’t understand why there was barely any food in the house.

Sans had side-eyed you as the cabinets opened and closed. His message was clear.

His and his brother’s alternative selves would die here without help. He had nodded at your wince. The resources needed for fifteen, though...

Which is another thing making dinner weird, seeing different variations of your boys. You were helping Sans work on a machine in the garage with the goal of the three of you leaving this world behind for a better one. But, the machine wasn’t supposed to bring people here, and it certainly shouldn’t have been functional yet, either. Sans’ sweat dripping down the back of his skull tells you he would agree with that. 

A list of still needed parts for the machine sits heavy in your pant pocket.

All these alternative universes is a lot to process. It’s hard to grasp how many there are. Most universes are better—you stare at a Sans in a blue sweater and pink house slippers—while others—you glance at a Papyrus with jagged teeth—appear to be in worse shape than yours.

Paps, bless his heart, tries his best to be positive about this, talking to a just as positive Papyrus in white armor and a Sans with a blue scarf. Your Paps even added an extra dollop of deer tallow to the food to try to make it less watery, and more enjoyable to the group. His face lit up when you presented him with the can of peas you found. It hurt to see the found food to be used so soon.

It’s hard to enjoy your dinner knowing so many of these boys appear to dislike your presence, probably extending to humans in general. 

The short angry one in black and yellow armor had attacked you, upon announcing your return home. Shit had hit the fan almost immediately. You narrowly dodged a wave of red magic bones aimed at your chest, and fully drew your pistol. The amount of hostile intention aimed at you was thick, but you were prepared to protect your home.

You were going to need to fix the new holes in the door later.

Everyone stilled as your Paps slammed the short one into the wall. The sword normally sheathed on his back drawn, eyes a glowing blood orange, and blade threatening decapitation. It was a rare sight to see your Paps get so serious. Sans had positioned himself back-to-back with Papyrus. 

“Other brother,” said Papyrus, calmly. “If you attack my best friend again, you **will regret it.** Are we clear?”

“Well said, bro.”

The tense atmosphere had been broken by Paps sheathing his sword and happily declaring he will work on dinner.

You decided it was a good time to unload your scavenged finds off your bike.

After dinner is when you get your formal introduction of the new skeletons. The first set introduce themselves as Sans and Papyrus, but are re-nicknamed to Vanilla and Happy. Happy, you muse, is an accurate name for the skeleton in white armor.

Blue is the talkative Sans from dinner with a baby blue scarf and his bro is Stretch, a Papyrus with an orange hoodie. Red is a short sweating ball of shark teeth trying to look tough and his black armored brother is Edge, one of the angry ones who raided your cabinets. Black is the dick who attacked you, best noted for his mostly black with yellow armor. His brother Rus is pretty much Red, but taller and less fazed. Razz is damn near a carbon copy of Black, but with more red to his armor. Gold, Razz’s brother however, is hiding behind his much shorter brother. You get the impression he and Blue will have the hardest time in your world. On the other end of that spectrum, Axe with his one red eye and cracked open skull reminds you of people who already are hardened from a world like yours. He’ll definitely be fine here. His brother gives off a similar vibe, but...

“I don’t like your name, and you don’t either, do you?” you state, bluntly. Crooks jerks his body straight for a moment before returning to his slouching. Axe’s singular red eye light focuses on you.

“I-it’s fine,” the Papyrus stutters slightly. “I’ve gotten used to the name, and it’s not so bad?” 

You note how few of the other skeletons meet your eyes when your eyes flicker to them. A frown tugs at your lips. 

The hunched giant “Crooks” nervously smiles unconvincingly at you. His brother inspects you closely before relaxing on the wood floor. Crooks is visibly bothered by his name, and it is apparent that everyone is aware of that.

Your boys nod and decide to give “Crooks” a new name at a later time. A better name that the skeleton can be proud of. 

“Names here usually indicate what you’re good at or known for,” your Sans grins at his brother’s alternate. “We’ll find a good one for ya.”

Which means it is your boys’ turns for nicknames.

It’s a lie to say you are impressed with the naming abilities of this group. 

Sans has names suggestions like “Cargo” (for his shorts), “Bow” (for the bow on his back), and “Pads” (for the leather full arm guards peaking under his blue sweater). Papyrus’ options are not much of an improvement as “Hide” (for his full set of leather armor), “Steel” (for the sword), and “Knight” (for his “protection of the princess”) are said.

Some of the less savory names brought up by a few of the skeletons are quickly dismissed by the others. 

“We actually already have nicknames!” chirps your Papyrus. “The human calls me ‘Beansprout,’ but you can call me ‘Sprout!’”

“Cool name, bro,” your Sans said. “You can call me ‘Scout.’ I _scout_ for trouble.”

The exasperated groans are a sweet sound to Scout’s ears.

You also introduce yourself, and mention you have the nickname “Bike Runner” at the local posts, or “Biker” for short.

There are a few looks of confusion, but no one comments on it.

“So, now that’s done,” Vanilla says eyeing your groups’ get up, a particularly hard stare at your pistol and rifle. “What exactly kind of world is this?”

“And what kind of weakling monsters require human weapons and armor?!” Black shouts. “Your skeletons! So some pride! At least wear quality gear worthy of your kind!” Pointing to Sprout’s handmade armor and sword. Sprout looks displeased at the jab.

Black’s comments sting more than you will ever admit. You made Paps that armor as a gift. Took almost a year to make, and he was so happy you made him such a nice set. It is much nicer than the mismatched and obviously repaired set you wear. 

Black is clearly upset about the situation as a whole and is lashing out, but the guy is being way too loud. 

“Oi,” you say, “lower your voice will you? Night-time is active.”

“Active?” questions Stretch. “What’s that suppose to—”

“I will not obey a lowly human! Those patchwork rags you call armor is ten times worse!” snaps Black at you. Sprout openly frowns and Scout looks annoyed at Black. “Do you even clean yourself?! You smell rancid! Humans should know their place and it’s—”

“ ** _Buddy._** ” Scout growls lowly, eye sockets dark. “I believe my friend here said to lower. Your. Voice.”

Black scoffs. Rus takes a half step towards his brother, as if expecting a fight.

“A petty line like that is hardly a threat! That lazy Vanilla variation of myself at least has some bite without such useless equipment. I—”

There is a loud crunch of wood snapping from outside. Scout and Sprout reach for their weapons.

You dash to the window. 

Fuck.

“HORDE!”


	3. Trouble With Zombies: Their First Horde

The house is thrown into chaos. 

Scout is immediately dashing to the roof for a vantage point. Sprout is out the door with his sword drawn to take down as many hostiles before they can reach the house. You count at least twenty bodies hobbling through the destroyed patch of fence.

The new skeletons can’t believe what they’re seeing.

Zombies. Real ZOMBIES.

“What the hell is going on?!” shouts Red, sweating more.

“Your damn shouting attracted every zombie in the area,” you snap at Black. 

Edge recovers first, situation sinking in.

“Scared of a little army of corpses?” scoffs Edge. He readies a magic bone sword and dashes to Sprouts location. Black and Razz follow closely behind, summoning their own attacks.

“That’s not…! Ah, fuck it,” you curse. You whip around to remaining skeletons. “Can any of you shoot?!”

No response.

Of course. They’re monsters from a non-zombie world. Why would they need to know how to shoot a gun?

“Blades, spears, anything?!” your demanding cutting through the groaning outside.

“WHAT IS THIS?!” comes Edge’s shout.

“Boss!” Red flickers out of existence and reappears by his brother.

The new guys are finding out first hand why zombies are just as dangerous to monsters as they are humans.

They’re unaffected by magic.

“Go away, scum!” commands Razz, throwing a wave of bone attacks. The bones prove ineffective.

“Where the fuck are their souls?!” demands Black, his own magic doing nothing. Rus is at Black’s side and throws a punch at a corpse aiming to chomp his brother. The zombie barley stumbles back before thrashing his arms at Rus.

Right, monsters are _made_ of magic.

An arrow pierces the zombie through the eye before it collapses. Rus turns to see Scout on the roof, pulling metal arrowheads out of his short pockets and creating an arrow shaft of purple colored magic. He launches another arrow and takes down another zombie close to Razz.

“Magic doesn’t work on the soulless!” Sprout shouts, decapitating a zombie in front of him. “Good news, that means your LV won’t increase! Bad news, fall back if you don’t have a non-magical weapon!”

“I will never run from a fight!” declares Edge, still trying to fend off two zombies in front of him. A blur goes by and the heads of the zombies fall off.

“Hehehe...don’t go losing your head now,” grins Axe, a hatchet in his hand. Decaying matter drips off the blade.

“Was that a fucking pun?!” screeches Edge. Axe chuckles darkly.

A crack of gun fire and a zombie getting too close to Black falls. You and Black make awkward eye contact for a second, before you holster your smoking pistol and reach down into your boot. The hunting knife is the perfect weight in your hand, and you are ready to get up close and personal with some of these corpses.

You are not ready for your soul to be ripped from your chest and your body thrust onto the dirt.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you curse. Sprout whips around to see Vanilla’s eyes burning blue and him holding you down by the soul. 

“Whoa, man!”

“Other me! Stop!”

“Brother!”

“Sans!” Sprout screams.

Scout is suddenly behind Vanilla, ripping out his soul and pinning Vanilla to the hallway wall. You’re freed from the magic hold, soul returning to your chest.

“Biker, go help Paps,” Scout says without breaking eye contact with Vanilla’s dark sockets. His tone leaves no room for argument. “This one’s having a PTSD episode.”

You know better than to hesitate during a horde, and you are out the door the second you’re back on your feet. Not that you want to stick around to have your soul attacked.

Since Black and Edge have their brothers at their sides, you go to aid Razz in his fight. He demands you leave, as he “doesn’t need a human’s help.” His protests silence as more zombies fall to your knife than anything he tries.

Razz will never admit it, but he might have been a _very tiny_ bit impressed. An absolutely minuscule amount.

You go to finish the remaining zombies by Sprout’s side. Years of fighting together makes the two of you a devastating combo against the last of the horde. The final zombie is fallen by Axe and his hatchet. Guess you were right about him. Axe will survive here without too much trouble. 

It’s quiet now.

The smell of decay is awful. 

Razz is the most vocally displeased about the lack of indoor plumbing. (The outhouse behind the house should haven been an obvious giveaway.) A bucket of clean water, a frayed rag, and a small bar of homemade lye soap is what everyone gets to wash the blood and bits of rotting flesh off with. 

Edge and Black are finally quiet for once. Axe seems pleased with himself as Sprout praises his efficient handling of the horde.

Sprout and yourself are the last to clean up. The bodies need to be properly incinerated first. You mumble something about moon phases.

“Zombies will regenerate and pull themselves back together after some time. Gotta make sure they can’t do that,” you explain, dragging off another zombie to a large hole away from the house. The burn pit, you called it.

God, the smell of burning bodies is the worst.

Sprout collects the sullied clothes and promises to clean them in tomorrow’s daylight. The replacement clothes scrounged up are almost worn right through, but are clean and blood free.

Scout eventually leaves the house with an exhausted Vanilla in tow. Scout looks grumpy and is crossing his arms. He stands by your side.

“H-heya, kid,” starts Vanilla. Blue sweat covers his skull. “Uh, sorry about...sorry about...ya, know... _taking you down with me_ in my lapse. It, uh, wasn’t very cool of me...I’m not usually the kind of guy to do you _dirty_ like that.”

You are officially done with today.

“Look,” you spoke clearly and coldly. Vanilla jumps in place a bit. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, or what your deal with me is, but today’s been a long day and I’ve been attacked too much by you lot to care anymore. You’re not actually sorry about attacking me, are you? You’re sorry it happened in public.”

Vanilla at least has the good sense to look ashamed.

“Next time you decide I’m the biggest threat in the room,” you step close to Vanilla, “you better hope you actually kill me.”

His eye lights go dark.

Harsh, probably stupid to say that to an unsteady guy, but it gets the point across. In this world, it’s all about survival. Kill or be eaten. 

The thought of your boys forcing Vanilla to eat your body if he actually manages to kill you fills you with a dark amusement. After all, resource waste is pretty much a crime here.

Nothing ever goes to waste. Nothing.

“Now go to bed,” you say, stretching. Vanilla’s eye lights return. “We’ll figure out what we’re going to do about this whole thing tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m heading back to the roof for night patrol,” says Scout, readjusting his bow to his back. “Hope you like the floor.” 

“Excuse you, what?!” snaps Edge from the doorway, eyes blazing in fury. 

“I’m sorry, friends,” says Sprout looking through a closet. “But we are not prepared for this many guests. Tonight you will have to bare with us and we will work on securing better bedding for you tomorrow.”

“We at least get a blanket, right?” says Blue with big, starry, puppy eyes. Skeletons shouldn’t be able to create such a face, but you chalk it up to being a magical ability.

You wonder if that actually works in other universes. Can’t wait to see how he’ll react to old curtains for blankets. Good thing he didn’t ask about pillows.

“I can bunk with Scout and Sprout in their room, and a pair of you can take my room,” you mention. “Could probably fit four of you in the attic and the rest of you will have to deal with the basement.”

“I WANT THE BEDROOM,” demands Edge.

“YOU?! I DESERVE THAT ROOM!” snaps back Black.

“HA! LIKE THEY WOULD GIVE THE ROOM TO SOMEONE WHO ATTACKED ONE OF OUR HOSTS! IT CLEARLY SHOULD BE MINE!” declares Razz. Black looks ready to throw fists with Razz and Edge.

You twitch your hand towards your pistol. They’re being too loud again. These boys are going to get you killed. 

“So~,” preens Axe from behind the loud skeletons. His eye glows and his smile stretches wide. A small splatter of missed blood is still sticking to his cheekbone. 

“Which of you guys want to bunk up with me and my bro?”

Axe and Crooks unanimously get your room. 

Vanilla, Happy, Blue and Stretch take the attic, while everyone else piles onto the basement floor.


	4. Today We Start Getting Our Shit Together

Morning comes too early.

The movement of the bed wakes you as Sans—er, Scout, finally face-plants himself into the old king mattress. It’s still fairly dark outside, but the skyline is vibrant with the purples and pinks of dawn. 

“Night,” Scout mumbles.

“Morning,” you mumble back.

Releasing a wide yawn, you throw the ragged blanket off you and onto Scout. He hums gratefully before cocooning himself. Sprout’s absence from the center of the bed and a soft sound from the hallway tells you he’s already on top of the morning chores. Good on him. You feel like shit after yesterday.

Hobbling to your feet, you throw on your leather chest piece. You had a new hole on the side, thankfully not near the hide tightening laces. A small piece of scrap leather should patch it just fine. The bracers are looking worse for wear, too. You’ll need to make new ones soon before a zombie bites through them. Hopefully, these ones will last until winter. You slip your knife into your boot before pulling them on. The gun holster is the last thing to go on. A quick chamber check counts only five 9mm bullets left. You’re going to need to get more ammo.

The thought of buying ammo makes you wince. Traders charge up the ass for bullets. 

You run your fingers through your short hair. Paps—damn it, Sprout—had cut it to sprinkle in his gardens to keep the deer away. With a larger group, it is imperative that all food security precautions are taken. The gardens need to hurry up and start producing soon.

Leaving the room, you go to greet Sprout in the kitchen. He happily returns your greeting while adding more wood to the stove. The wood stove heats up the room uncomfortably, but the over-sized stock pot of boiling water is a comfort in itself.

You squat down in front of the lower cabinets and peak inside. Mostly empty, save for a couple of closed glass canning jars. You push aside a jar of rendered animal fat and grab a mostly empty jar of black powder. Shaking the jar sadly, you realize you’ll need to harvest some more dandelion roots soon for your makeshift coffee. There’s enough left for four, maybe five cups. 

Great, more work to do today.

“I’ll be back soon, going to go pick some dandelions,” you tell Sprout, leaving the jar out. 

“Excellent!” smiles Sprout, beginning to make a bone broth in a new pot. “They can be a nice addition to our lunch today!” 

It’s good to see Sprout in a good mood. His enthusiasm lifts your own spirits. Passing through the hallway, you spy your rifle next to the front door. It’s surprisingly clean, Sprout must have gave it a wipe down this morning. Chamber checking your rifle, the lever action gun is still fully loaded with 6 bullets, and one round in the chamber.

Good.

The sun is fully awake when you return with your haul of rinsed dandelions. You chop off the roots and hand the rest of the plant to Sprout for later use. Placing them on a pan, you throw the roots into the hot stove to roast. Sprout stores the plants for later and goes outside for a minute to cut some rhubarb from his small patch for breakfast.

Sprout doesn’t say it, but you know it hurts him to be taking so much from his small patch. Procuring enough food for the group is one of the top priorities right now.

Leaving Sprout to watch over the roots, you head outside to the garage. The machine inside looks like it was struck by lightening. What was once a metallic sphere, is a charred and jagged pile of scrap. It’s a miracle the garage wasn’t set on fire. Very little of the machine looks salvageable. 

Two years of work down the drain.

You inspect Scout’s nearby miniature foundry for damages. Thankfully, it was spared and only has normal wear and tear. The box of metal ingots is low. A closer eye will need to go to finding aluminum and brass scrap to melt down on your next scavenging run.

Wandering over to Scout’s workbench, you search for two pieces of paper scrap and a pencil. On one piece you being to write down all the components you could remember Scout asking you to find for the machine. You figure he’ll need those again and most of them are hard to find. Better to start looking as soon as possible.

On the next piece of paper you begin to prioritize a to do list. 

_To Do:  
\- Food, today  
\- Fix fence, today  
\- Get beds for the ~~idiots~~ guests, today  
\- Laundry, Paps said today  
\- Check traps, today  
\- Fix front door, will need new front door soon  
\- Teach the guests how to survive, sooner the better  
\- Salvage run, soon  
\- Trader run, asap  
\- Armor patching, asap_

You note a few extra tasks, but overall satisfied with the organization of the list. Writing down a list will be easier for the rest of the skeletons to know what will need to be done.

No way in hell are you letting twelve able bodies not work for their dinner, no matter how meager it is.

Returning to the house, Sprout is removing the roots from the stove to cool. You thank your beanpole of a best friend and get to work grinding down the roots. Fifteen cups of dandelion coffee are made when Sprout calls forth your guests for breakfast.

Today’s breakfast is a single six-inch stalk of fresh rhubarb, a hot cup of coffee alternative, and a glass of room temperature water. Of the group, Axe and Crooks are the only ones who appear to enjoy their breakfast and look rested. 

“Rus, I demand you fix that blasted machine and get us out of this hellhole,” grumbles Black, dark bags under his eye sockets.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“I hope you managed to get some sleep, friends!” smiles Sprout. “We have much to get done today!”

“What are we doing?” asks Blue, looking much more energized from his hot drink. You’re surprised by his burst of energy, the coffee isn’t caffeinated. 

The to do list is displayed in front of the group.

“As you know, we don’t have the resources to host you,” you say, tapping the paper. “So priority number one is to make sure we all eat today. Followed by ensuring you have some sort of bed to sleep in tonight. We also need to fix the door and fence that was damaged last night, for defensive reasons. Pa—er, Sprout also mentioned getting your clothes cleaned today.”

“Sounds like your _enlisting_ us,” grins Stretch. Groans rise up from around the table.

“Brother! No puns at the table!” scolds Blue. Despite giving the biggest response, Blue’s eyes seem to sparkle in amusement.

“You work, you eat,” you state. “Surviving is top priority. We have no room here for those who do not contribute. We’ll figure out your strengths as we go and take it one step at a time.”

“Understandable!” smiles Crooks. You smile back at the giant. 

“Good news, it’s early spring now!” chimes Sprout. “There’s lots of wild food popping up now. Lunch will be covered by me today, but we will need your help for dinner. My brother will be going fishing at the river today after he wakes up. We have enough equipment for three of you to fish.”

Edge and Black begin squabbling over who could catch a bigger fish. You ignore them, not wanting to get a headache.

“I’ll be taking my bike and hitch into town to get mattresses for you after breakfast. I’ll need someone to come with me to help lift. We’ll need to make a few trips, but whoever comes with will have their pick of the mattresses.”

“I will go!” Razz says, slamming his and on the table. You nod at him in acceptance, glad the job is taken so quickly. 

“We’ll leave after breakfast. While we’re gone, we’ll need someone to repair the fence and patch the door.”

“Oh!” Blue pipes up. “I’m good at fixing things like that! So is Red! We’ll get that done before lunch!”

“Oi!” snaps Red. “Don’t go volunteering me for shit!”

“Sprout will need help doing laundry too. It’s a cumbersome task to do alone,” you continue.

“I, the great Pa—Happy, am excellent at upkeep of the home! Together, Sprout and I will have the clothes clean and dry in no time at all!” boasts Happy. Sprout looks cheerfully at his look-a-like. 

“I’m sure we will have it done in no time at all!” agrees Sprout. 

“I-I can help with lunch and dinner, if you need it. I’m good at cooking with improvised ingredients,” offers Crooks. Axe makes a sound of agreement to his brother’s statement. Sprout eagerly accepts his help, making the hunched giant stand just a tiny bit taller.

“I assume you three will want to look at the machine and see what you can salvage today,” you gesture towards Vanilla, Stretch and Rus. Rus doesn’t acknowledge you, but Vanilla at least nods.

“Yeah, honey,” says Stretch, “got to see how bad the damage is now that it’s light out.”

“I’ll patrol,” grins Axe. “Would hate for someone to _turn up dead_.”

Damn, that’s a good zombie joke. You’re the only one who laughs. Sprout looks exasperatedly at the madly grinning Axe.

“Could you not?” whines Sprout. Axe heartily laughs in response to Sprout. Crooks looks happily at his brother.

Gold looks timidly around the table, trying to sink down under it. You honestly don’t know what job to assign him. Your bike can only fit two, and all the main tasks of the day are accounted for.

Guy looks like he jumps at his own shadow and would faint if asked to patrol.

“Gold,” you speak, making the poor skeleton jump. This guy is in so, so much trouble. “You’re first on day off rotation.” A cop out, Sprout knows it, too, but you need more time to think of a job for him. “I would suggest taking today to familiarize yourself with the property and to pick where you would like your bed to be.”

Gold looks visibly relieved.

What the hell do you do with a guy like this in a world like yours?

After cleaning up, you lead Razz to your pride and joy, your motorcycle. After hooking up your wagon hitch, you toss something to Razz. Razz looks scandalized when he catches your rifle.

“With some luck, you won’t need to use it today,” you say, mounting your bike. The engine rumbles a sweet song to you as Razz climbs on behind you. 

The cold morning air whips across your face on your way into town. The lack of zombies this morning pleases you. The destroyed “Ebott Welcomes You” sign, however, does not sit well with Razz. 

You park in front of a building called the “Mill Village Motel.” 

“We’re getting our beds from a dingy hotel?!” scowls Razz, crossing his arms. “Do you know what disgusting stuff is on those mattresses?!”

“Whatever it was, it’s dead now,” you muse. Razz is not amused. “Relax, we’ll find the best looking mattresses we can, alright? Lot of places are completely scavenged. This is the best place to find a bed, not to mention eleven of them, before lunch, trust me.”

Razz did, in fact, not trust you in slightest, but instead focuses his attention on finding (and beating the dust out of) the best mattress in the motel. Luck is shining on you today. The only two zombies found in the building are quickly disposed of by your knife. 

“Why not shoot them if we’re on a time schedule?” glares Razz, a hand on the rifle.

“Other than risking attracting another horde?” you question him. Razz looks away and looks through the ransacked rooms for better bedding. “Ammo is one the top five most expensive things out here and should be conserved. We also don’t want to run the risk of announcing our presence to any others that might be looting the area.”

Razz tries miserably to conceal his interest.

“Most expensive things?” he inquires. Ah, this is a pay-you-off kind of guy, isn’t he?

“Ammo, guns, medicine, fuel, and soap,” you say, folding up a decent condition blanket. “Sealing glass jars, salt, sugar, wax, and batteries also buy and sell well.” Razz pauses and gives you a hard look.

“Not food and water?”

What, did he want you to go out and buy food? Buy it with what exactly? You’d have better luck finding good pieces of meat on a rotting carcass, anyways.

“Those too,” you confirm. “But we luckily live in an area that rains a lot and has a lot of game, fish, and wild food. Crops are hit and miss.” You grab a blanket and shake out the dust before folding it. “We’re not too far from the ocean, so salt is fairly common at trading posts. Maple syrup season just ended, so sugar is pretty popular right now. Only the truly desperate buy food directly from the traders, it’s questionable quality at best, and the meat could be from _anything_.”

Razz doesn’t like how you emphasize that. 

“Trading goods directly with other sellers at the posts will get you a better deal,” you continue. “But everyone’s stock is low after winter. Traders themselves are overpriced generally, but spring more-so since runners don’t work most of the winter. Traders are especially expensive if you’re a monster.”

“Glad to see the ‘ol human racism survived the apocalypse,” snarks Razz, giving a blanket a particularly harsh snap to clear it from dust. The thick cloud of dirt almost makes you sneeze.

“Could be worse,” you mumble, darkly. “There’s a lot worse things out here than being overcharged for your race.”

Razz finds himself curious, and believing you on that.

“Bike Runner,” recalls Razz with a bitter tone. “You work for these traders.”

“I run supplies between posts on occasion. Traders tend to give better deals to those who they can count on to complete a job.” A small smirk perks up your face. “And sometimes first pick of the cargo.”

It takes four trips back and forth to drop off all the mattresses and bedding. Razz boasts to all who will hear how superior his mattress is to the rest. You do not find the need to tell the group any different. Gold seems to be more at ease now that his brother is back home. A content wave washes over you seeing the repairs to the door and fence, and the wet clothes drying on the clothesline. Sprout assures the group he and Happy will get the bedding in tiptop shape before dark tonight. Everyone seems mostly pleased with this.

Lunch, however, is...an affair.

The lunch crew did their best to make the dandelion salad and pan-fried raccoon look and taste good, but the portion sizes are rather small. The fact the meat is raccoon puts off most of the group. Sprout assures the group it is safe to eat and is quite nutritious for a meat. Crooks chimes in his agreement and states it is rather tasty. Over half the skeletons are unconvinced. 

Edge throws an absolute fit being served “trash rat and weeds” and proceeds to vow to catch enough fish that they will never have to eat such a foul meal again. At some point Black chimes in and the two are arguing about fishing again. Scout glares at the two, while you pat Sprout’s back to comfort him. Edge’s words hit him right in the pride. 

You’re annoyed at Edge for his tactless comment.

After lunch you walk with the fishing crew to the river. It’s a solid mile or two walk with pretty scenery. Black and Edge are smirking competitively at each other, but are at least chatting quietly.

Scout casually mentioned fish being scared of loud noises and would be hard to catch if talking. He winks at you. Fish tend to be hungrier this time of year and will bite regardless of chatter volume.

You hear snippets of a bet. Something about the winner catching the biggest fish and the loser...you don’t quite hear. Trying not to listen to their banter, you instead focus on watching for zombies. A few hobbling figures in the distance, but they are far away enough to not notice the group.

The river is free of ice and looks crystal clear. A perfect place for harvesting cattail roots. You leave the boys to their fishing as you dig up some nice cattail plants down stream. It’s too early in the season yet for cattail flowers, but the shoots and roots will pair well with any fish the boys catch. Before leaving the house, Sprout mentioned taking Crooks out to recheck the traps and to look for stinging nettles after cleaning the bedding. With some luck, dinner will be a nice fish and foraged vegetable stir-fry.

Delicious.

The river is cold, but rinsing off the mud from the plant is necessary. You find some knotted fishing line on the riverbank. The line is pocketed and will be later put to good use. Some days it amazes you how much good stuff the people before the “Raising” used to just toss on the ground. 

The boys manage to catch enough fish for everyone have a whole fish. A bucket full of Perch! Black is the winner of the little fishing competition. Apparently the loser eats the smallest fish of the bunch for dinner. Edge’s face is burning red with fury. 

“You will regret this!” screeches Edge. “Next time I will have the bigger fish and the stakes will be twice as high!”

“Bring it, Edge-lord,” smirks Black. “You will fall twice as hard!”

You find that some of the skeletons at home made use of their time by setting up a series of rods and curtains in the basement and attic, creating makeshift bedrooms. The need for some semblance of privacy is a powerful thing, you suppose.

Dinner is fire roasted Perch, boiled cattail roots, and stir-fried nettles and cattail shoots. Sprout tops each stir-fry with violet flowers. A little bit of edible flare. There are no complaints and every bit of food disappears from plates.

The sight makes your SOUL swell in contentment. You will get through this. You will continue to persevere.


	5. Gold Works It (Pelts)

Gold looks so uncomfortable standing in front of your shed. 

Gold is the only skeleton in the house whose voice you have not heard. To communicate he uses a notebook to scribble sentences and sketches to everyone except his brother. You’re sure he whispers to his brother, but you haven’t found the need to eavesdrop on the brothers’ conversations. It’s not too hard to imagine what a Papyrus’ voice sounds like. There are seven of them around.

His drawings, though, are really good, but not very useful here at the homestead. You heard rumors at posts that some of the coastline survivors use artists to imagine what their loved ones would look like as zombies and hire hunters to return their corpses to be buried. However, those jobs do not pay well, and are definitely not worth the gas to make the trip.

But having skilled hands for delicate jobs? _That’s_ an ability with endless valuable uses. 

It takes two days to figure out a job or two for Gold, and you are pretty excited to start teaching him some of your more profitable skills. However, until certain resources become available, you’re thinking of borrowing him for winter preparations until you get what you need.

Razz, however, was ready to throw hands with you when you approached his brother after breakfast to begin work. 

“It’s time to put your skilled hands to use,” you had said. You weren’t sure how that was misunderstood—it was meant to boost his confidence—but Razz looked murderously at you, while Gold tried to completely hide himself behind his brother. The timid skeleton could really move and hide when he wanted to. You file that bit of information away for later.

Didn’t you mention to him last night you had figured out how he could pull his own? You swore you did.

“You dare?!” sputtered a furious Razz.

“I dare?” you questioned. “It’s time he pulled his own weight and I could use another body to help stretch some leather.”

It took them too long to register what you said.

Their stiff postures and defensive stances make you suspect Gold was assaulted at some point in his life. The thought angers you—Gold does share a face with your best friend, after all--but you don’t question their reactions. If they want you to know, they’ll tell you. You should have been more direct at the start. 

The situation does, however, solidify your thoughts about keeping Gold out of reach from zombies and other survivors. People take advantage of weaknesses for their own profit, and Gold might just be the weakest link of the group in terms of combat. If he has half the trauma Vanilla has, it could be dangerous for everyone.

You would love to be proven wrong, though.

You’re not sure how much dirty laundry from these guys you have the capacity for.

The shed you and Gold stand in front of is your workstation. A small cast iron wood stove sits on the west side of the building. A pipe chimney to the stove goes through the shed’s roof and exits the east side. You assure him it’s not going to catch fire and it keep the shed warm in the winter. A tree casts a shadow over the east side’s skinning and butchering block. Gold notices how unusually clean the butcher block is, and rope burns on the tree’s strongest looking branch.

Gold pales as you open the shed.

The smell is unpleasant. Shelves holding wooden boxes of curing soap combine with the aroma of bad meat. You walk in as if unable to smell it. You grab the handle of a large full bucket.

They’re rabbit and raccoon pelts. 

Why can’t he stop shaking?

“Breath, Gold,” you command, setting the bucket down outside. 

Gold takes a few step back and staggers down onto the wet grass. The sight of the pelts are making him woozy. He’s breathing is uneven. He grips the hood of his sweater and pulls it as far over his skull as the fabric will allow.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

You pick up an empty bucket from the shed and flip it upside down. Grabbing Gold by the sides, you hoist him up and set him on the bucket. For the first time, you notice his hoodie lacks the fluffy fur some of the others have.

Did you make the wrong choice here? Is he...what is term for food secured meatless folk...vegan?

No, that can’t be right.

He didn’t respond poorly to the skinned animals the group ate for meals. Enjoyed most of the meals, actually. You know he’s seen those pelts, Sprout makes a point not to hide any of the steps in case anyone is secretly trying to learn. This is something else.

This is a panic attack, but you’re not sure why the sight of the pelts trigger him. Maybe it’s not the pelts? Could it have been the smell? He was fine up until you opened the shed door. It’s not the best smelling place, but it’s a scent you’re used to.

“Gold,” you speak softly. “Look at me.”

Wobbling eye lights try to focus on your face.

“I know you don’t like this, and if you can’t do this job, I will find something else for you,” you say slowly and clearly. “We can work farther away from this shed, but the work we do here is for your brother and the group.”

His eye lights wobble less as he listens. A good sign. Gold’s breathing is calming down, but still shaky.

“It took us two years to make the machine what it was, and I hope the others can get it back in order soon. However, there is a very real possibility of you guys staying at least one winter here.”

Gold’s eyes look at the ground. You remove one of your bracers and gently lift his chin to keep his eyes on you. He’s trembling. You lower your hand to stop touching him, but hover your palm under his chin. The trembling lessens.

“Winters are too cold here near the mountain without adequate protection,” you continue. “We’ll need warm blankets to curl into at night. Mittens for our hands. Hats for our heads. I was hoping you would help me turn these furs into nice, warm fuzzy blankets for Razz and the others.”

He stops trembling completely and is looking at you with more resolve. A mental note to bring up Razz more whenever Gold starts having panic attacks is made. You give your warmest smile to Gold. The poor skeleton looks worn out. He still lightly grips his hood.

“What do you say, friend? It’s a bit of a learning curve, and slow work, but I’ll help you every step of the process. Will you help me make some nice winter blankets?” 

“…okay…”

Your eyes widen in surprise as a more genuine smile pulls at your lips.

“Okay,” you agree, pulling your bracer back on.

Turns out Gold’s hands are perfect for gently pulling and stretching the delicate rabbit hides. Scout told you something a couple years ago about the benefits of positive reinforcement, so you make sure to praise Gold’s work often. His cheekbones heat up with yellow magic every time you do. He works the pelts slowly.

After the fifth or so pelt, Gold seems to actually start to relax. His hands brush over each fur, enjoying their softness. You make sure to only hand him rabbit hides and none of the slightly rougher furred raccoon.

Everything is calm until Razz shows up. You spot him first, watching his brother with an unreadable face. It’s clear he notices the bags under his brother’s eyes. Razz catches your gaze and straightens up and frowns. He stomps over.

“Come get lunch, or don’t eat at all!” shouts Razz. Gold lurches in surprise and accidentally rips off a piece of the rabbit pelt. He stares at the ground and trembles. Razz eyes you harshly, waiting for your reaction.

Do they...think you’re going to go off on them? After all the damn effort you put in?

“Oh, sweet,” you say, catching them by surprise. “Can it have that piece? That’s just the right size to patch my chest piece.” Quickly untying the side strings, you pull off your chest piece and hold it out to show them the hole. 

They don’t notice, their eyes lock on your suddenly unarmored torso. 

Are you skinnier than they thought or something? Very few survivors have any form of body fat, especially in the spring. You have a shirt on, it’s not like you are flashing a bare body to them. So why are they so surprised?

“Are you out of your mind?!” snaps Razz. Gold reaches forward and grabs your armor piece, and returns it to your torso. He gives the side strings a light tug to make sure it’s secure. His eyes don’t meet yours.

“What’s your problem?” you frown, tying your armor strings. 

“Do you even realize what you’ve done?!” continues Razz. “Disarmoring yourself in front of others you barley know?! Males you’ve just met? Do you know the implications?! Never display a vulnerable state like that to me again!”

Out of everything that has happened this week, Razz stomping away from you after his rant is the weirdest. You wouldn’t have taken your armor off if you didn’t think you could take them in a fight. Nothing personal, just how it is here. 

Gold hands you a piece of paper before following his brother. 

_Sorry, it’s an our universe thing. Doing something like that is for trusted friends and family._

Did...did Gold just say he and his brother just shot down a friendship request you didn’t know you were offering?

Well, fuck them, too!

You didn’t want to be their friend anyway!

No way you’re pouting or bitter as you put the pelts away for later. Not in the slightest. No, sirree. Absolutely has nothing to do with them sharing your boys’ faces, either.

Not at all.

As night falls, Scout finds himself admiring the sky from on the roof. Stars twinkle brilliantly against the black canvas of night. One of the few perks of being on the surface, and the real reason Scout takes night watch. On clear nights, when everyone is safely sleeping, is the best.

“Hey, buddy,” Vanilla plops down next to Scout. “Mind if I join?”

Scouts makes a noncommittal hum. Vanilla lays back and gazes up at the stars.

“The stars are so much brighter here,” Vanilla says, quietly. Scout takes a long look at his alternate. Vanilla’s eyes reflect the stars, and for the first time, he looks truly relaxed. Scout rubs the back of his head in annoyance. He was looking forward to some quiet time. He sighs as he sets his bow down at his side.

“Yeah,” agrees Scout, getting comfy. “There’s barely any light pollution, it makes the sky pop.”

Vanilla hums in agreement. 

Scout finds himself not liking this silence.

“What are you doing up here, Vanilla?” asks Scout, directly.

“Can’t a monster enjoy the stars?”

“I’m not playing these games, Sans.” Scout responds. It’s weird calling someone else by his name. Vanilla sighs and sits up.

“I have a couple of questions for ya, bud.”

“Ya, I figured.”

“I’ve been _picking my skull_ on why this world is so different than ours,” starts Vanilla. “Got a few ideas, but need some more information. Where’s your Frisk?”

“Dead, next.”

Vanilla’s eye lights go out.

“ **What?** ”

Scout glares at Vanilla. What part of ‘dead’ didn’t he get? Vanilla appears to be waiting for an explanation.

“Frisk lived with us for a while.” sighed Scout, after a moment. “Good kid. Wanted to live with us forever. Paps loved them. His first real friend. He begged Undyne not to take them. Never seen my bro cry like that.”

Vanilla’s eye lights return, but he is quiet. He begins to feel uncomfortable.

“But the underground was beginning to run out of resources and Asgore just needed one more SOUL. Undyne was determined to be the hero the underground ‘needed.’ We learned the hard way when the barrier fell why the kid was so adamant about not leaving the underground. The falling of the barrier attracted every zombie in Ebott. Lot of monsters dusted that first day. Turns out zombies are walking corpses of killer intent.”

Vanilla flinches. Scout pauses for a moment, his eye lights fuzzy. He’s lost in a memory.

“We were massively overwhelmed by the numbers...didn’t know how to fight something immune to magic. Never thought something like that could exist. Undyne and Asgore were some of the first to fall, trying to hold back the horde from the others. Some got away, but not many. I grabbed Paps and took a shortcut as far away as I could see.”

“Didn’t the kid reset?” whispers Vanilla.

There is a beat of silence.

“The fuck’s a reset?”

A lot of things suddenly start to make sense to Vanilla.

“Your Frisk didn’t come back after their SOUL shattered?”

Scout’s eye lights go dark.

“Your Frisks can. Do. **_What?_** Your Frisk’s alive?!”

Scout clamps his jaw shut to control his volume.

“Er...yeah, bud. As far as I know, yours is the only one who we know who...uh...isn’t.”

Scout buries his skull in his hands. His mind races with thoughts of possibilities, of what life could have been like.

“You ok, bud?”

“Do you think I’m ok?” glares Scout. “You just told me our kid is the only one who actually dies. Paps damn near _fell down_ when the barrier first broke. His SOUL cracked!”

Vanilla winces at the information. Scout shakily inhales to calm himself. His eyes focus on his counterpart. Vanilla feels his sins crawling on his back.

“Now I have a question for you,” quietly speaks Scout. “Your Frisk is alive, you have food, shelter, relatively no reason to fight, or leave your world. Why were you making the machine?”

Scout listens as Vanilla explains about trying to bring Gaster back from the void. Something about him being family? Shock has him a little fuzzy on details. He realizes how deep the differences go between their worlds.

“Bud, if you weren’t trying to bring Gaster back, where is your Gaster?”

“Gaster fell down in the underground years ago when Paps and I were just babybones. After his death, Alphys was assigned his old position as the royal scientist.” 

“Oh, sorry to hear that.”

“It was years ago. I barely remember the guy.”

“Uh...yeah,” Sans replies, awkwardly. “So, mind if I ask one more question?”

“Shoot.”

“How exactly did the surface end up like this?” Vanilla lightly grips his chin in contemplation. “It’s like it’s magically charged, but dying at the same time?”

Scout snorts at that. He settles back into his watch position. 

“If you want a history lesson of the surface, we both know who you need to talk to, _bud_.”

Vanilla doesn’t notice, but Scout spots a single red glowing eye staring at him from the darkness.

Doesn’t that guy ever sleep?


	6. Foraging With Some Fun Guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little reminder for nicknames!
> 
> Zombietale Sans = Scout  
> Zombietale Papyrus = Sprout
> 
> Undertale Sans = Vanilla  
> Undertale Papyrus = Happy
> 
> Underfell Sans = Red  
> Underfell Papyrus = Edge
> 
> Underswap Sans = Blue  
> Underswap Papyrus = Stretch
> 
> Swapfell Sans = Black  
> Swapfell Papyrus = Rus
> 
> Swapfell RED Sans = Razz  
> Swapfell RED Papyrus = Gold
> 
> Horrortale Sans = Axe  
> Horrortale Papyrus = Crooks

The morning air is crisp and the ground is wet due to last night’s rain. Today is one of your favorite types of spring days. 

Prime foraging conditions.

Blue is bursting with energy to join you today. Stretch is lazily flipping through a book on foraging plants and mushrooms. That book is one of your most prized possessions. It has saved you from starving so, so many times.

You dig around your backpack to make sure you have what you’ll need. Your fire starter tin is closed tight and dry. A small cook pot, three water jars, three small wood bowls, three metal spoons wrapped in clean cloth, a tiny vial of sea salt, and a small emergency kit are all snug and secure. Everything you could need for a long day of foraging. 

“Alright!” you say. You attach a woven basket onto your backpack. “Equipment check! Knife?”

“Check!” responds Blue, patting the knife on his belt. It’s dull from use, but can still cut. Stretch hums in agreement, pointing to his hoodies’ pouch.

“Gloves?”

“Check!” “Mmhm.”

“Good, and I can see you both have your baskets, so lets move!” you say, walking north of the house, Blue and Stretch following at their own paces. Stretch wears his basket as a hat, but the basket covers his head more like a helmet. You chuckle at the sight. He looks like a lost wannabe soldier boy, with your rifle on his back. 

Stretch had argued with you against him having the rifle. You were firm that if he didn’t have the rifle on him, then you would give it to Blue to carry. The boys needed something to defend themselves with when leaving the property. Stretch reluctantly took the rifle so Blue wouldn’t. He made it clear he had no intention of using it. You hoped he wouldn’t have to.

The wood-line is only a half mile walk from the house. Soon you’re surrounded by the pleasant smell of cedar, pine, and damp earth. Wild plants peak up through the ground around the wood line. Trails in the ground show animal paths. Lot of fresh tracks in the mud, some animal, some wobbly zombie tracks. You’ll need to keep a watchful eye on the surroundings.

Blue, in his excitement, asks about every plant he finds with gusto. You’re quick to remind him about noise attracting zombies and he lowers his voice to a normal speaking tone. The bulk of the plants Blue points out, to his disappointment, are poisonous. 

“What about these?” points Blue, smelling a sweet sent from the wild rose bush.

“No good in the spring, unfortunately,” you say, gently caressing the pink petals. “Rose hips are good, but it’s too early in the season for them. One of the few edibles that stick around in winter. Also good for preventing and treating colds.”

Blue’s eyes turn into massive stars. Stretch leans down and smells the roses.

“Wowie! These can be used as medicine?”

You can’t help but grin at the shorter brother’s enthusiasm. Sprout acted just like this when he was learning about plants. Maybe Blue would enjoy weeding with Sprout in the gardens, too?

“Lots of stuff out here can be used as medicine,” you respond, still grinning and spreading yours arms. “You just need to know what to look for.”

If Blue was excited before, he’s absolutely vibrating now. Stretch eyes his brother with a laid-back grin.

As you guys travel the woods, you point out plants that are safe to eat. Blue and Stretch recognize dandelions pretty easily, and also remember the stinging nettles and violets from Sprout’s stir-fry. Blue gathers whole dandelions, the tops of the nettles, and the violet flowers and leaves in his basket. You tell him to only pick the plants he can for sure identify and these are good plants to start with. Monsters can still get sick from inedible foods, just like humans can. You also make sure they don’t over harvest.

“Hey, honey,” Stretch pipes up squatting near a tree. He points towards the ground while looking over your book again. “Think I found a good ‘shroom.” You walk over to look.

This guy just found a pair of morel mushrooms.

“Lucky guy,” you say. “These things are real tasty. Need to be eaten shortly after being picked.” You reach down and pinch the stem. The mushroom breaks off and you lift up the stem. “See how this is hollow? Good way to make sure it’s not a fake. As long as you break off the stem, you shouldn’t need to worry about over harvesting too much.” 

You pick off a slug off the mushroom and toss the fungus into his basket. Stretch picks the other mushroom in the same way, and holds it up to his face.

“Guess you could say I’m a _fun guy_.”

Blue screams into his scarf to muffle the noise.

Blue continues to pick up more nettles and dandelions as he finds them. He mistakes a Cat’s Ear plant for a dandelion. You point out the hairy difference between the plants, but also tell him to pick off some of the younger Cat’s Ear leaves as those are good to eat, too. 

Stretch finds what he thought was an oyster mushroom, but you both couldn’t be sure. It looks mostly right, but it’s growing in a weird way. In the end, the two of you leave the mushroom alone.

The sun is high in the sky. Blue’s basket is overflowing with nettles and dandelions. A few Cat’s Ears and violet flowers peak out from the bunch. Stretches basket is mostly full of burdock roots from second year plants, but also has some young first year burdock leaves and the two morels. Your basket is getting full with ostrich fern fiddle heads, young shoots of cleavers, young flower stocks of the broadleaf plantain and a few of its young leaves. Cattails are spotted near a creek, but you advise the group to hold off on harvesting those for now.

It’s a good haul. Combine with some kind of meat and the group should be able to eat well for two days. That’s a food surplus you could get behind. You can use the opportunity to go scavenging or make a trader run tomorrow since you won’t need to be on food duty. 

You happily begin to clear off a section of the forest floor near the creek. 

“Who wants lunch?” you say, looking around for usable tinder, sticks and wood. 

“Sounds good to me,” hums Stretch sitting down and stretching out on a fallen tree. He places his basket on the ground next to him.

“Wait!” panics Blue, wildly waving his unoccupied hand. “Shouldn’t we bring these baskets back to the others? What about their lunch?”

Cute herd mentality, you muse. You wonder how long it will last.

“Scout shot a pair of rabbits this morning trying to get into Sprout’s gardens,” you say, finding some bark dry enough for tinder. “Sprout was going to make them into soup for lunch. He said he’d rather us forage a bunch and eat out here. Otherwise we’d all be eating small and would still need to look for more food tomorrow.”

Blue still looks unsure. It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes.

“We’ll make sure the baskets are full before heading back,” you assure him. “There’s still quite a bit of area around here we haven’t searched yet.” He finally agrees and volunteers to help cook. A quick side-eye from Stretch and you ask him if he could wash some of the plants in the creek instead. Blue happily agrees. Stretch seems to relax again.

You make a mental note to not let Blue cook without supervision. 

After separating out a chunk of the stinging nettles, a couple young burdock leaves and roots, a handful of violet leaves, cleaver shoots, Stretch’s morels, and a few plantain flower shoots, Blue bounds off to the creek to rinse them. The area of the makeshift camp is clear enough to see any zombies for a decent distance, and keeps Blue within sight. Thankfully, you don’t need to tell Stretch to keep an eye out for his brother, as his one peaks open to watch the area for hostiles.

You wonder if Stretch would enjoy archery?

Tenting sticks over smaller sticks, you set up a decent looking campfire. From your bag, you pull out your fire tin. Inside is a piece of steel, a small flint rock, and a few strips of char cloth. Striking the flint and steel together, you get a few sparks to ignite into an ember on a small piece of the char cloth. Placing the cloth to the dry bark tinder, you blow softly. The tinder blazes to life with flames, lighting the campfire.

As the fire heats, you pull out your cook pot and water jars. Pouring one full jar into the pot, you then even out the remaining water jars into three equal portions. Blue returns with the dripping wet plants. You pull out your boot knife and begin to peel and slice the burdock roots. The morels are sliced in half and you make a note to make sure Stretch gets the extra piece as he found the mushrooms. Blue helps by tearing up the nettles and placing them into the pot, followed by the other plants. Once the coals burn down a bit, you place the pot directly into the fire to boil. Fishing out your vial of salt, you toss in a pinch and give the forger’s stew a stir with one of the spoons you packed.

Blue goes to scout the area for zombies, but promises to stay with eyesight.

“So,” you say, staring at the fire. 

“What’s _eating_ ya kid?”

“Can’t help but notice you didn’t attack me when I took my knife out.”

Stretch winces as he sits up.

“Can’t help but feel I’m not exactly special in that regard, either,” you continue, drifting your gaze between Stretch and the fire. “Care to... _shed some light_ on that?”

Stretch’s jaw twitches to grin for second before frowning.

“Watcha’ know about mages, kid?”

You frown deeply.

“Enough. Why?” you say, suspiciously bitter.

Stretch raises a lacrimal bone at you and makes a mental note to ask you about that statement later.

“In our worlds, a mage kid falls into the underground. In my world, it’s a kid named Chara. Good kid, big sweet tooth.” Stretch has a gentle smile on his face for a moment. 

“In Vanilla’s world, it’s a kid named Frisk. Generally a good kid, but uses their powers to reset the timeline back to the point where they fall into the underground. The first couple times Frisk reset, they seemed to be trying for the best possible ending. But, after a few resets, the kid went on a bender of...different methods.”

“Kid killed people, didn’t they?” you mumble softly, staring intently at the fire. The tall skeleton is unsure of what to make of your unastonished response.

“A full genocide run of monsters,” confirms Stretch. “More than once, if I recall correctly.”

“And the monsters didn’t do anything to protect themselves?”

“Sans was the only one who could remember the resets.”

“And no one believed him?”

“Monsters hadn’t exactly been in contact with mages for over a thousand years. How do you explain to a race that is made from love and kindness that a child is capable of mass genocide?”

A silence over falls the camp. You stir the pot. 

You’re aware his question is hypothetical, but wonder how Stretch would respond if you actually gave an honest answer. You decide against it.

“I’m guessing the kid used a knife?” you say, redirecting the conversation.

“Yeah, usually.” he says. “What messed Vanilla up real bad though, is when the kid just, stopped.”

You tilt your head at Stretch.

“Stopped?”

“Yeah, the kid just stopped and went back to befriending everyone again. Stopped resetting. Vanilla’s been waiting for his world to fall to shit again.”

For the first time in a long time, you find yourself a little grateful about your world. You wonder what your world would have been like if a kid had a power like that. Imagine applying it to everyday life...to war?

The thought chills you. 

“No zombies to report!” calls Blue, arriving back to camp. Stretch and yourself drop the topic.

“You’re awesome, bro.”

“Food’s done,” you say, taking out the bowls and remaining spoons from your bag. Blue volunteers Stretch to divide the food evenly into the three bowls. Stretch makes a big show to do it as slowly as possible. You hand each skeleton a water jar.

Food is always better over a campfire.

“Not bad, honey,” praises Stretch, eating his vegetable stew. Blue happily eats up the stew, also giving his praises. The sea salt balances the bitter plants. Water washes the food down nicely. The forging group feels more energized after eating. 

You love that post-meal energy burst.

Blue rushes off to rinse off the dirty dishes in the creek. You stomp out the fire and Stretch puts away the stuff into your bag. Gathering the baskets, the three of you are back to gathering a few more plants before heading home.

The sun is beginning to hang low in the sky when you bring your takings home. Everyone is outside. Sprout is thrilled by the fullness of your baskets, but your eyes focus on the black mass in the yard.

“Looks like we _barely_ made it,” grins Stretch.

Crooks is smiling as he pats the head of the creature. Axe leans against the tree near your shed looking proudly at his bro.

“I-I got us dinner,” Crooks says, shyly. Your eyes comically stare from Crooks to the creature, to back to Crooks. You can see a puncture wound that is about the diameter of a bone attack.

“You took down a black bear?!” you shout in surprise. Crooks rubs the back of his head sheepishly. 

“Sprout and I were checking the traps, and this guy wandered up and—”

Crooks pauses at your elated face.

“You’re fantastic!” you praise. Crooks face lights up in a magically-heated blush. “That’s enough food for days! I’ll have to start rendering the fat as soon as butchering starts. Cooking oil! Soap! Ointment! Leather!” 

Crooks just stares at you in awe as you continue to happily list all the uses you could think of for the bear. Every part has a use. Axe grins at his bro’s expression. You damn near skip over to Sprout and whisper something in his ear. Sprout straightens up and loudly declares his approval.

“You’re not Crooks anymore!” you say, pointing at the hunched giant. He straightens up a bit and listens intently. Axe’s red eye focuses on you. 

“I-I’m not?” he asks, almost hopeful.

“Hunter! The great bear hunter and provider!” you say with a grin. 

His eye lights go dark. You wonder if he doesn’t like the name.

Crooks—no, Hunter—finally straightens up to his full height. For the first time, you see how tall he really is in comparison to the other Papyrus’.

“I approve! Hunter it is!” he affirms.

“Cool name, bro.”

“Nice name,” says Scout walking over with Rus. “Also, Rus and I got the smokehouse ready to go. Once we carve this fur boy here, we’ll have salted and smoked bear for weeks.”

“I’ll roast some chunks for tonight’s dinner after canning some!” declares Sprout.

“I will help with the preparations!” adds in Happy. 

“And we have some nice greens to go with dinner!” chimes in Blue holding out his basket. Stretch lazily gestures to his basket.

“I’ll supervise,” winks Vanilla.

“SANS! That’s not a job!”

“Finally! A feast worthy of the Great and Terrible Edge!”

“The maleficent Black gives his approval.”

“Hehe, looks like some good food tonight,” grins Axe. “ _Eat_ -ch of you better thank my bro.”

Razz, Rus and Red are smirking.

Gold timidly reveals a drawing of a smiley face.

Looks like everyone’s in a good mood tonight. 

Hunter is absolutely glowing from happiness.


	7. Wasteland Medicine and Hygiene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An updated reminder for nicknames!
> 
> Zombietale Sans = Scout  
> Zombietale Papyrus = Sprout
> 
> Undertale Sans = Vanilla  
> Undertale Papyrus = Happy
> 
> Underfell Sans = Red  
> Underfell Papyrus = Edge
> 
> Underswap Sans = Blue  
> Underswap Papyrus = Stretch
> 
> Swapfell Sans = Black  
> Swapfell Papyrus = Rus
> 
> Swapfell RED Sans = Razz  
> Swapfell RED Papyrus = Gold
> 
> Horrortale Sans = Axe  
> Horrortale Papyrus = ~~Crooks~~ Hunter!

The next morning you check on your cooled jars of tallow. You’re quite happy with the amount of grease you are able to get out of the bear. Since it’s early in the season, the bear didn’t have much fat on him to begin with. Thing probably was fresh out of hibernation. You still manage to get six good sized jars of the stuff. You’ve already planned out what each jar is going to be used for.

The first jar always goes to Sprout for cooking. Two jars will go to making a batch of soap. You’ve already collected and sifted the wood ash from the kitchen wood stove in a bucket and filled it with water. In a few days you’ll have some nice lye water to make soap with. One jar will be stored in your shop for waterproofing leather. Bear grease is particularly good for that. Another jar will be kept in the house as an emergency supply. The last jar, however, is today’s task.

You’re going to be making three small jars of green healing ointment to sell at the trading post. Blue and Stretch have already left back to the woods to bring you back with some broadleaf plantain plants. A shiver of excitement runs through you.

If you play your cards right, you could get a bidding war going on. Healing ointment only lasts several months and winter just ended. There’s a high chance that if anyone has any ointment left, it’s gone rancid by now. An early season bear grease based healing ointment? The best available oil to mix with herbal medicine because of it’s own properties?

Jackpot.

By the time Blue and Stretch return with a small basket of plantain, your outdoor wood stove is hot and ready. You have a metal cook pot on the edge of the stove, warming the bear grease. In a pail of clean water, you wash off the leaves and some of the flower stalks. You’re careful to remove all dirt and debris. Chopping up the cleaned plantain pieces, you mix them into the cook pot.

Now the mixture just has to cook on low heat, stirring every few minutes with a wood spoon, until almost lunchtime. Then it’s as simple as straining the liquid equally between the three small jars and sealing them.

As you gently stir, you look around the homestead with a feeling of normalcy. Sprout is weeding his two large gardens with Blue and Happy. They chat idly. It looks like Sprout and Blue are separating the weeds between edible and toxic. Happy looks interestingly at their weed piles and asks many questions, in much the same style as Blue did the day before. A small spark of pride fills you at Blue’s progress in learning plants.

Near the house, Red seems to be instructing Gold to draw something specific. Razz shouts at Red every time Red gets upset at Gold and makes him erase a part of his drawing. Despite the bickering of Red and Razz, Gold appears to be in his element. You find yourself curious as to what they’re working on. 

The newly dubbed Hunter checks on the smokehouse regularly, taking careful measures that the meat inside is cured properly and the smoke levels are just right for drying. You’re not surprised that he would be skilled in the preservation of meats. Hunter and Axe are already proficient in survival. If those two ever need to leave the homestead, you have full confidence they would live. You wish the rest of the skeletons would take a page out of their book.

Axe is always working, even when he looks like he’s slacking off. As a zombie quickly hobbles close to the fence line Axe, in one swing, decapitates it and drags the body to the burn pit. A second before he looked to be napping under a tree. Since he’s been put on daylight patrol duty, not one zombie has made it within fifty feet of the wood fence. He’s supposed to trade shifts with Scout at night, but Scout has mentioned seeing Axe clearing out zombies at night, too.

Hopefully, the bone boy isn’t overworking himself and is finding time to actually sleep. It will be counterproductive otherwise. 

Sounds of tinkering come from the garage next to you. Vanilla, Rus, Stretch, and Scout use most of their awake daylight hours to work on the machine. The hum of the foundry tells you Scout is using up the last of his smelting metals to cast some parts. Scout is sure to have a list of materials for you to look for at the trader.

Edge and Black spar away from the house. Their moves are deliberate and honed. You’ll need to see about finding suitable weapons for them. A few ideas come to mind, watching their styles.

When the sun is almost at it’s highest point, you take the cook pot off the heat and strain the green infused oil into the three jars. You pop the strained pulp into your mouth as a snack after getting out every drop of liquid you can. Sealing the jars, they are ready. After lunch, they should be cool enough to sell.

Which means, it’s time to get ready to make a run.

You clean out the cook pot with a piece of soap and some rain water from one of the collection barrels around the homestead. The clean pot goes back onto the stove filled with clean water to warm. While the water heats, you head into the house. Gold hides his drawing and goes to another part of the yard to finish it as you pass by. 

What’s with the secrecy? 

Entering the boys’ and your room, you ruffle through some of the few clothing options you have. As always, not much to chose from. Picking out the least shabby shirt and pants you have, you grab a couple clean rags and a bone hair pick Scout carved for you and head back outside to your shed. 

Bath time, a necessary step before any trading post visit. A clean person has a better chance of negotiating a better deal.

You set up behind the shed. Not really private, but better than nothing. The pot of warm water sits on a cut log, while your fresh clothes are off to the side. You remove your armor pieces and shirt. Using the same bar of soap you used to wash the pot and a rag, you first clean your face. You lean over and dunk your hair into the pot and give it a good scrub with the soap bar. The water is already turning murky.

How long has it been since you last washed your hair, anyways?

As your rising your hair, you hear movement behind you. You’re eyes flick towards your clothes where your pistol is.

“Damn, sweetheart,” comes Red’s voice. “Didn’t realize I was missing out on a show.” 

Wringing out your hair, you glance behind you from under your arm. Red is openly staring at your bare back, red tongue out, and drooling. You roll your eyes and chuck a wet cloth at his face. He doesn’t even dodge as the rag hits him in the skull. You toss your patchwork torso piece at him.

“No free shows,” you say, composed and unborthered. “Clean my armor if you’re just going to stand there and stare.”

Red takes that as he’s welcome to stay. 

The drool increases and he watches you give yourself a sponge bath. His eyes greedily dart between the bones protruding out from your rib cage and your spine. Scars of different types cover your back. He wonders if he could touch them. Would you mind? You don’t appear to care in the slightest he’s watching you.

Very little of your armor gets wiped down.

He freezes as you remove your pants, boots and...socks. Magical sweat covers his skull. 

Ok, now you have to be fucking with him, right? No one just takes off their pants in front of a guy without some sort of expectation, right? He knows that most humans don’t get the sock thing with skeletons, but pants are different. This world can’t be THAT different from his, right? There’s no way you’re seducing him, right?

Damn, you can practically see your skeleton and muscle structure right through your skin. Red finds himself biting his tongue and taking a step towards you.

So vulnerable...

Would you mind if he just…?

A hand firmly clamps down onto Red’s shoulder. Red drops your armor—that he totally didn’t forget he was holding—as his eye lights go out.

Oh, shit.

“Friend,” Sprout says with a tight smile. His grip on Red’s shoulder tightens. “Care to explain what we’re looking at?”

“SANS!” shouts Edge, hands on his hips. “That’s highly inappropriate!” 

Red snaps out of his stupor and whips around to his brother.

“You’re inappropriate!”

“What?! I am not! I’m highly appropriate! For every situation!”

You continue bathing yourself as if nothing is happening behind you. Part of you wonders if Red somehow got the wrong idea. All you want to do is get clean before lunch and hit up the trading post. They act like they’ve never seen someone clean themselves before. Surely they’ve seen animals clean themselves before, right? What kind of world did they grow up in, anyway? Do they not bathe?

That’s disgusting.

“You’re looking too, boss!”

They’re...aware you can hear them, right?

“I am not! Besides! Look at her!” Nice hypocrisy there, Edge. “Not a curve on her! What could you possibly be getting out of this?!”

You frown as you buff yourself with a dry rag. It was a hard winter. Good luck finding any humans with a lick of fat on them.

“If you’re all quite done,” says Sprout, cutting off the brothers’ line of sight to you. He crosses his arms and looks unimpressed at them. “I suggest you stop ogling my best friend and start heading over to the house before lunch gets cold. I can assure you, she’s not bathing for your entertainment.”

A grin twitches to your face. See? Your Paps gets it!

“WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU ALLOW YOUR HUMAN TO—”

You tune out the squabbling behind you. Now dressed in clean clothes, you run the bone pick through your hair. As nice as it feels on your scalp, you don’t bother styling your hair too much. The motorcycle is just going to whip it how it likes anyway. 

The pot of water is brown with grime. Still usable to wipe down your armor pieces though. Taking a damp rag, you clean off your bracers, followed by your boots. Not clean enough to eat off of, but they look presentable now. You dump out the dirty water. Pulling your bracers and boots on, you decide against wearing your torso piece to the trader. Buyers and sellers get antsy when someone is heavily armed and armored. You’ll leave your rifle behind, too, as an extra precaution.

Geez, are those boys still bickering?

“Oi,” you say to get their attention. Three sets of eyes realize you’re now decent. “Quit arguing and go get some food,” you say grabbing your torso piece off the ground. You throw it up on a clothesline and pick up your bathing area.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” winks Red. Edge scowls and smacks his brother before hauling him off to the house.

“Oh, yes!” says Sprout, handing you a piece of paper. “Brother and the others working on the machine wanted me to give you this list of stuff. I also added a thing or two if you can get it!” You nod, glancing over the list. 

It’s about what you expect. Scout’s looking for machine components and metal. Sprout’s looking for more salt, seasonings, and...a new sword? You glance up at his sword on his back. It’s well cared for and still in really good condition. The grin on his face, however, tells you the item is not for him.

Ah, you understand now.

“I’ll do what I can, Paps. Let’s get food.”

“Of course!”


	8. Hitting Up The Traders

Lunch has a weird vibe.

Razz and Gold you understand not wanting to look at you, with the whole not wearing your chest armor piece thing, but somehow everyone is different with that one piece of armor off. You really wish someone would explain what’s going on.

Black, for some reason, looks super smug at he eats. As if he won or gained something with your appearance. Rus even seems to be smirking, taking side glances at you. You don’t understand their response. All you did was bathe and wear some fresh clothes? Is there something sexual about bathing in some of these skeletons’ worlds?

Weird kink.

Scout and Sprout look annoyed at Red, who’s still giving you lewd looks. Crimson drool still tries to leak out from his sharp teeth as he eats. Sprout had informed his brother about the bathing thing. Edge also looks annoyed, but for different reasons and refuses to meet your eyes. 

Vanilla looks more at ease at he eats, and Stretch does too. Does being armored make them uncomfortable? You could kind of understand why it would. Axe doesn’t seem to mind either way about your appearance, but is keeping an even closer eye on the windows than he usually does. Hunter looks very pleased with you and his meal—foraged salad with bear jerky.

Blue and Happy directly compliment your tidy appearance and are excited you cleaned yourself up before joining them for lunch. Sprout leans over and whispers something about it being good manners, and that those are important in their worlds. 

It confuses you. Is not washing your hands before eating enough? How much soap can these boys afford to go through?

Wait, how much soap do these boys go through? Scout and Sprout don’t use much since they’re skeletons, so you kind of assumed their counterparts would use soap about the same rate. You’ll need to check how much soap you have left tonight. It might be a good idea to re-purpose the jar of bear grease set aside for waterproofing leather for soap instead.

This whole thing is giving you a headache. You’ll talk to Scout later. He’s a smart guy, he’ll know what’s what.

After an awkward lunch, you carefully pack your ointment jars into your backpack. You mount your bike after a quick gas check and head south east on your motorcycle. Wind whips your damp hair dry. The closest trader is about a thirty minute ride taking main roads. Technically, you could get there in twenty with some off-roading, but the ground is too soft and muddy in the spring.

Still frustrated from lunch, you have to remind yourself not to run over zombies on your way. Hitting one zombie would dirty you all over again, ruining your chances at getting the best deal at the trader. 

The ride home will be free game, though.

Before long, you see the tattered flag of the Traders peaking over the treeline.

In your experience, a lot of the trading posts look similar in construction. Trading posts have two layers of walls. The outer walls are entire hard wood tree trunks held together with rusty steel beams and scrap metal. Barbed wire curls line the top of the walls. Long wood and metal spikes protrude from the walls in strategic locations, many of which have zombie corpses dangling from them. These walls are built to handle hordes. Each wall corner has an armed guard watching for zombies and rule breakers.

There are few rules in the world now, but all of them can be found at trading posts, conveniently tacked onto the outer wall’s reinforced metallic gate...if you can read, that is. If you can’t, the soft broadcast from the tall radio tower in the center of the trading post states the rules every half hour on loop. 

_Trader’s Union Rules  
You’re entering a neutral place of trade.  
Don’t steal or take anything not yours.  
Don’t kill, injure, or threaten anyone buying or selling.  
Don’t bring your bullshit disagreements in with you.  
All sales are final.  
Hours are dawn to dusk.  
**All Rule Breakers Will Be Shot**_

This is the closest thing to law nowadays. These rules must be obeyed when within the walls of a trading post. To break these rules within a trader’s territory is a death sentence. On the off chance you escape the walls? 

Expect to be hunted down with a high bounty on your head. Traders don’t joke around when it comes to disrespecting their territory.

You slow down your motorcycle and slowly coast through the main gate. The inside of the first walls are nothing special. Mostly a parking lot for the few survivors that managed to get a vehicle in working condition. Trash is thrown about. The lot fills up a lot in the fall when the garden harvests comes in. The parking lot will be filled with sellers who can’t find room within the interior walls.

The interior walls of trading posts are usually either concrete or brick. This trader’s walls are dirty, chipped cinder blocks, with cracked mortar patches. While not much to look at, these walls are several feet thick with a strong, but rusting metal gate. Instead of guards on the corners, four spotlights shine down inside the trading post. 

Traders are some of the few groups of survivors that have the supplies to keep generators going.

Turning off your bike, you dismount and walk through the interior gates. Several groups of sellers have some products displayed on blankets on the ground before them. It’s hard to tell who’s selling and who’s buying. Everyone speaks in an indoor tone to avoid causing too much noise. 

There’s not too many vendors this early in the spring. Mostly those who used the winter months to make their goods. This is a good time for ammunition, metal works, craftsmanship of any sort, leather, apple cider vinegar, and maple syrup. Looks like there’s a little bit of all these things being sold today.

You recognize the faces of the metal worker, the munitions dealer, and Hugh the head trader of this post. Hugh nods at you, you return the gesture. 

Hugh’s trading space takes up half the available space within the walls. It doubles as his house, too. The radio tower runs through his log cabin style house. It’s oddly fitting as Hugh looks like a lumberjack with his clothing choices and gruff appearance. All his tradable goods are under a patchy wooden roof, connected to the interior walls. Keeps most of his more valuable stuff dry.

You chose a spot within eyesight of the metal worker and Hugh. They’re the ones you would have the best luck with. Metal working comes with a lot of injuries and Hugh has a set of twin kids. Both would have an active interest in some healing ointment.

Ok, calm down. Seller face on. Don’t let them know how much you need these to sell. Here we go.

“Fresh green healing ointment. Only have three jars. Made this morning with new bear grease.”

Attention has been grabbed. Calm yourself, don’t get too excited.

“Extra stock.”

Lie, but a few good buzz words gets the crowd going.

“Open offers.”

Let them think they’re in control.

“Today only.”

Urgency.

You’ve attracted the attention. Perfect. Now to see how badly people want it.

Over all, a pretty good deal. All three jars were sold within the first hour. As expected, the metal worker had a vested interest in the ointment, as did Hugh. The munitions dealer was a surprise. 

You got a good trade with the metal worker, a jar for one of his lower quality hand-foraged swords. Not as nice as Sprout’s, but it will work just fine. Managed to barter a crappy sheath from the guy too, but at least the sword can be carried without using your hands. 

The munitions dealer traded ten 9mm bullets for a jar. Thank the stars on that one, your ammo supply has been dangerously low. It’s been a long time since you had a full clip on any of your guns. Hugh’s offer, depending on who you are, is either the best or worst offer you took.

He offered as much of his junk supply pile as you could carry out of the interior walls. Hugh knows your buying habits enough from the last two years that you would jump on a deal like that. 

Scout’s gonna be rolling in scrap parts for his machine.

You’ll have to apologize to Sprout that the only thing you could get off his list is the sword. The vendors selling the vinegar and syrup didn’t have an interest today.

You carefully look through Hugh’s heap of “junk.” Most things are broken or in awful condition. Random items scavenged from houses nobody really needs. Thankfully, Scout doesn’t need the broken toaster you shove into your empty backpack to work, he just needs the internal components. Same goes for the old cracked cellphone you stash into your bag. You also squeeze a broken desk fan and a small alarm clock into your bag. Any extra space is filled with small items metallic in nature. 

A gruff voice speaks up near you.

“Also wanted to talk to ya, Biker,” says Hugh. You pause stuffing your bag to glance over at him, to let him know you’re listening. “Need some supplies ran to the coast trader, if you’re interested. Will have everything ready in two days for delivery.”

Now he has your full attention.

“What’s the pay?” you ask. Hugh smirks at you. He likes direct people.

“How’s about five gallons of fuel for yer bike, and 10 rounds of your choice?”

Oh, _good_ pay. Makes sense, the ocean coast is a few hours nonstop by vehicle. Better bring your hitch with you. Scout’s list included needing fuel for the machine, too.

“Don’t need the rounds anymore,” you say. “How about 12 gallons, no bullets?”

Hugh scoffs.

“Eight gallons.”

“Ten.”

“Eight.”

“Eight if I complete the job within 24 hours. Ten if I finish before you close same day.”

“Deal,” Hugh says shaking your hand. 

He looks like he has more to say. You don’t ask, instead going back to cramming every little bit of junk you can into your bag. You know what he’s got on his mind. It’s the same conversation. Always about Sans and Papyrus. Hugh doesn’t like them, you tell him how little you care about what he thinks. Conversation comes full circle when he pulls the he’s just looking out for his best runner card. Same bullshit, different day. 

At least there’s one topic that will always derail him from his monster tirade.

“How are the kids?” you ask.

“Those brats are going to get me killed, one of these days. Either from stress or from attracting every zombie within five miles!” replies Hugh. His words do not match the fond look on his face. This guy would kill anyone who threatened his son and daughter.

Despite his hate of monsters, Hugh is, arguably, the most agreeable trader you’ve met. It’s the original reason you chose to live relatively within the area of his trading post, before monsters surfaced. Hugh cuts you a deal since you work for him, and doesn’t give you any shit for being able to read, since he can, too. He can be a real asshole, but he’s also a single father looking out for his kids in this shitty world.

You can respect that.

After escaping Hugh, you secure your goods onto your bike and drive home. The sun is getting low in the sky, but you should be home just before true dusk. You feel significantly better having a full load of useful stuff to bring home. A scavenging day in a nearby town is in order. Last scavenging run was with Razz, and that feels like ages ago. The feeling of looting abandoned buildings is like going on a treasure hunt. It always feels so rewarding to find something good to bring home.

Knowing you have a job lined up in two days is also a weight off your shoulders. The coast trading post is always well stocked with salt from the ocean. You’ll have to see about packing some stuff to trade for some while there. Maybe quick stop to pick up some shells and sea glass as trinkets for the others. Would they like that? Sprout, Blue, Gold, and Happy you think would, anyway. 

Should you see about getting a job for Gold since you’ll be over there?

You avoid running over zombies on your way back, now that you are in a much better mood. The wind in your hair, a full load of goods, knowing there’s food at home, life’s pretty good right now.

Too bad it couldn’t last.

Your stomach drops as you approach the homestead.

The fence is broken.

Zombies...zombies are everywhere.


	9. The Second Horde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys! Again, thank you all for the love and support of this story! It's a really good motivator!  
> I plan to continue my routine of updating this story bi-weekly!  
> Thank you!!

How...how the hell are there so many zombies?! Where did…?! There are easily a hundred of the damn things! 

No, keep calm and think this through! 

In the fading sunlight, you could see the boys fighting for their lives.

You stomp down your gas pedal. 

Sprout is doing the best he can next to Edge and Black. The two louder boys are wielding planks from the fence as clubs. Scout is on the ground, smashing skulls with a hammer from his workshop. No bow, he must have ran out of arrowheads. Axe is wildly guarding the front door of the house and the now busted out front windows, but he’s massively outnumbered. Blue and Happy are smacking any zombies getting past Axe through the windows with frying pans. Stretch found an old broom and is doing his best to shove back zombies from another window. Razz has your rifle and is at a fourth window bashing any zombies he can with the butt of the gun. 

If you have to guess, the rifle is empty of rounds.

You don’t see Gold, Vanilla, Rus or Hunter. God, you hope they’re on the other size of the house keeping the zombies out and not dead.

You barrel your bike into the horde. The angled front panel of the motorcycle bounces most of the zombies off to the sides of the bike. A stray body bouncing over you make you quickly hunch down to avoid being decapitated. Ignoring the splatters on your once clean body, you gun your bike through the horde. It’s what the bike is designed for, after all.

“Biker!” You hear several shouts. You ignore them and focus on not stopping your bike. A few wiggles and you manage to unsheathe the sword you bought. In any other situation, you’re sure Sprout would have wanted to give his gift personally, but living is more important right now.

“EDGE!” you shout. Angry red eyes glare at you as you throw the sword hilt first at him. “CATCH!”

Edge catches the sword. Smirking, he drops the makeshift club and begins to behead every zombie around him. He looks like he’s ready to take every single one of the zombies to hell with him.

Good.

You crank your handle bars around and drive back out of the horde. As soon as your out of the mass of corpses, you whip your bike back around to face the horde. One hand shifts the bike into neutral, the other picks off several zombies running at you with your pistol. The gun fire attracts the attention from a nice chunk of the zombies.

But not as much as revving your engine as loud as the bike can get. 

You squeal your tires as you quickly throw the bike into reverse as over half of the horde disengages the boys to go after you and your bike. A few more zombies go down as you empty your clip. You’re shouting profanities, your voice quickly going raw from the volume. These zombies can run. Must be second generations.

You keep the attention of the horde with loud engine roars from swapping your bike from reverse to neutral while still pumping your gas pedal. 

Now where the hell do you lead them?

The mountain. The mountain wildlife is likely to disperse a group of this size.

For fifteen miles, you lead the group of running zombies west towards the mountain with your loud revving. You wish you could say to lost the interest of some of the horde, but you're pretty sure the group is larger by the time you find yourself at the base of the mountain. 

It’s dark and your headlight is on, fixed onto the growling and putrid corpses chasing you. Deciding it’s no longer safe to reverse towards the mountain any further, you shift into drive and barrel into the horde. Cold, thick liquid is running down the front of your pants. The smell coming from you and your bike is horrendous and acidic, similar to raw sewage and vomit.

Damn, you hope Paps washed your other clothes.

You make sure not to head straight home right away. No point in leading a large group away if they’re just going to hit your house again. Instead, you head north for about five miles before taking a long stretch of back roads home. You’re relieved to see the light from the burn pit and not a pile of bodies attacking your home.

Your bike quiets as you park it near the garage. For a brief moment you lean forward, rest your forehead on the handlebars, and take a few seconds to calm yourself. Adrenaline has you shaking. The metal of the handlebars are crusty. You’ll need to thoroughly wash your face. 

“You’re back!” says Blue as he dashes towards you. He jumps at you to hug you, but is caught mid-air by Stretch.

“Sorry, bro,” says Stretch, hanging onto his struggling brother. “But we just cleaned you up. No offense, hon.”

“None taken. Is everyone—”

“Everyone’s fine,” assures Stretch. “A few bumps and scratches, but fine.”

Is it possible to deflate from relief? Your shoulders sag, now free of a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying.

Tiredly, you lift your head to look at the house. The outside of the house looks like it went through a hailstorm. The wood is dented, scrapped, and missing in some spots. All the lower level windows are broken. Stretch says Happy, Sprout, and Gold had swept up the glass before your return.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and a few bolts a light flash in the sky. It’s going to storm tonight, so the windows will need to be boarded up and covered before the rain starts. A pain in the ass to do at night, but at least everyone is alive.

Alive is good.

Red is too tired to argue when Blue volunteers the two of them to board up the windows. Hunter, Rus, and Black—surprisingly—help seal off the windows.

Dinner is a late, quiet affair that you’re not present for. While most of the group is eating, you’re outside, scrubbing the sludgy blood and gore from your body. The ruined, blood saturated clothes you were wearing are discarded onto the grass. It’s unlikely they’ll ever look as clean as they did this morning after today’s horde.

Scout keeps a watchful eye on the area from the roof. There’s a soft clanking of rocks as he uses a purple magic bone to chip rocks into the shape of arrowheads. You’ve always like your Sans’ determination to survive. It gave you and Paps a boost to keep going, as well.

Donning a tattered tank top and shorts, you climb up to the roof. The wind is cold, but you’re a little limited on clothing options right now. Scout gives you an exhausted grin as he chips away at a few more rocks. From the roof, you can see the dying glow from the burn pit. The pitch black night is only broken by the electric streaks in the sky. The wind has picked up. It should rain any moment now.

Scout passes you a cloth wrapped bundle. Inside, you find a few strips of bear jerky. Gratefully, you chew on a piece. A thump is heard next to you. You look over and stare directly into a single blood colored eye. You and Axe study each other’s faces for several minutes. 

Axe’s eye light wobbles for a second before he grins happily when you pass half the jerky to him.

You wonder if it’s normal to think of skeleton’s smile as adorable.

Taking a deep, slow breath, you lay down on your back. The sky is dark with clouds. Not much to look at tonight. You’re mildly surprised when Axe mimics your position next to you. Scout takes a break from his arrowheads to also lay with you two. 

The silence is comfortable.

“Was able to trade a jar for my pick of Hugh’s junk pile,” you say after several minutes. “Think I got some good stuff for the machine.”

“Cool,” tiredly responds Scout. Axe quietly listens, munching on his jerky.

“Took a job,” you continue. Axe fixes his gaze on you. “In two days. Ten gallons of fuel if I get the job done same day. Eight if I can’t.” Scout looks a little more animated.

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Where they sending you?”

“Ocean coast trading post.”

“Paps will want more salt.”

“Yup, thinking about checking our soap supply and seeing if we have an extra bar or two to trade.”

“Cool.”

You turn your head and make eye contact with Axe.

“Does your brother like sea shells?” you ask. 

Axe blinks slowly for a moment, as if processing the question. A wide grin stretches across his face.

“I’m sure if he _seas_ you give it to him, _shell_ love it.”

You might be just tired enough to take the bait.

“I _sea_ what you tried to do there,” you reply, smirking. “But that was weak. _Clam_ on, bone boy. _Mussel_ up some better ones.”

Axe looks absolutely giddy, his singular eye sparkling. Scout’s eyes are closed, but he has a grin on his face.

“I’ve got a few _pearls_ of good puns. _Conch_ you _sea_ I’m trying here?”

“Did hear the one about fish vendor’s rooster? He says any _cockle_ do.”

Axe bursts out laughing. Scout shakes, grin widening.

“Both of you need to get the _shell_ off my roof and go to bed.”


	10. Sweet to Balance Our World's Salt

**_CRUNCH!_ **

Sprout and yourself launch out of bed in panic. The two of you wildly met each other’s gaze for a second—sleep deprived minds slowly catching up—before darting out of the bedroom.

Blue’s screaming.

Thuds of startled foot steps come from below you. Everyone is awake now. Sprout’s long legs allow him to reach the attic first. The screams have subsided, but there’s shouting. You burst through the door behind Sprout.

A mass of leaves and branches.

A tree fell onto the house. Of _fucking_ course a tree would fall on the house hours after a horde.

“Is everyone alright?!” shouts Sprout. The wind is strongly blowing through the new hole in the roof. Rain is pooling on to the floor boards and mattresses.

“Yes!” shouts Happy over the wind. “We were startled!”

Scout appears in the room next to his brother. He’s drenched and looks exhausted. The others are at the door now.

“Get your mattresses into the living room now,” commands Sprout. Happy and Blue rush the mattresses to the living room. “Sans! Get this tree off the roof and someone fetch me a spare blanket!”

“Got it, bro,” Scout’s eye flares to life with purple magic. Stretch’s eye lights up in orange magic as he helps remove the tree.

“Here, use mine,” says Vanilla, surrendering his blanket. “It’s being a _wet blanket_ anyway.” Sprout nods and takes his blanket, firmly ignoring the pun. You help him tack it onto the wall. The wind whips the blanket violently, but it controls the amount of rain coming in. 

“Get an empty bucket from my shed,” you say, making eye contact with Rus. He blinks out of existence for a second before returning with an empty pail. You and Sprout jury rig the blanket patch to drip most of the water into the bucket, despite the wind.

“W-we found mops,” offers Hunter, holding up a mop. Gold stands next to him with his own mop. 

“Thank you, friends!” tiredly smiles Sprout. “That will be most helpful!”

The attic is crowded now. You leave the attic to check on the mattresses, while the others try to clean up some of the mess. A quick feel test confirms that each one has been soaked. Blue and Happy look disappointingly at their beds.

“We tried to get them out as quick as possible,” starts Happy. “But I’m afraid to say the rain was quicker.”

“Well, we better get these dry then,” you say, heading to the kitchen. “Bring them into the kitchen and I’ll get the stove going.”

The mattresses are pressed up against the wall near the wood stove. It looks weird, and it fills the limited cooking space of the kitchen, but the heat should let them dry out quicker. The fire is nice and warm, illuminating the dark room in a soft light. A few candles are lit to brighten up the space. A kettle of water is put on the stove. 

Maybe it’s the stress from the day, or the lack of sleep, but you find yourself not liking Blue and Happy’s sad faces as they sit at the kitchen table.

You pull out fifteen empty jars from the pantry, along with some violets Blue had foraged. Glass tinkers softy as you set the jars on the table and throw the flower heads into the kettle. After a day like this, you figure your secrete weapon for stress is appropriate. Crouching down, you grab a sealed jar of maple syrup and carefully add one spoonful of the sweet syrup to the kettle.

Something warm and a bit sweet for everyone will help.

The others pile into the kitchen just as you finish pouring the purple tea into the jars. The attic is as cleaned up as it can be for now. Scout quickly downs his tea before returning to his night watch. Everyone else slumps as they slowly sip their drinks. Stretch seems to particularly savor his drink.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” huffs a tired Black, sipping his drink. Maybe it’s the low lighting, but he seems pleased with his drink. Must be the lack of sleep.

“Sugary stuff is hard to come by,” you mumble tiredly into your jar. “Figured we could all use a treat after today.”

There is a low hum of agreement throughout the room. Soon, cups are emptied and the basement sleepers return to their beds, while Axe and Hunter return to their room. Happy and Blue help Sprout with washing the jars.

“Not to sound unappreciative,” starts Vanilla, laying his head down on the table. “But I’m still _bone_ tired and our sleeping space is kinda out of commission for the night.”

Happy groans while Sprout makes eye contact with you. You nod in agreement.

“The four of you can share our room for the night,” says Sprout. “It will be a bit tight, but you four should all fit. We’ll sleep in the living room tonight.” Stretch looks over at the dirty old couch in the living room with a skeptical face.

“Ya sure you can both fit?”

Sprout assures him it will be fine. Nothing the two of you haven’t done before. Stretch raises his eyebrow at this, but doesn’t question it.

The attic dwellers settle in to your boys’ room. Sprout ensures they have enough blankets and takes two himself. When he returns to the kitchen, he sees you asleep in a dining chair, feet propped on the corner of the table. Sprout tosses a thin blanket over your body before collapsing on the couch. 

He gives a deep sigh before cocooning himself in a blanket and getting comfortable. This has been an awful past twenty-four hours. What rotten luck to have a wandering horde of that size, and now the roof! Sprout tries to look on the bright side. Everyone’s fed, alive, and mostly uninjured. Sprout finds himself wishing he took more comfort in that. His chest pulses painfully. He’ll feel better after some rest. He’s just tired, very tired.

At least the storm is letting up.

Daybreak finds you awake and frustrated as you assess the damage. You kick a chunk of the broken fence. Two sides of the wood fence are completely destroyed and will need replacing. All eight of the lower level windows, despite being boarded up, are still shattered and will need replacing. 

The siding of the house from the ground to about six feet up? Yup, also needs replacing. 

That, however, is nowhere near as important as fixing the gaping hole in the roof. The damage will need to be fixed quickly, otherwise it will rot the house from the top down. Shingles will need replacing. You’ll need to find some shingles...and lumber...this is going to need a lot of lumber.

Damn, you were hoping to make some new soap today.

Arguing catches your attention. You look over to see the group talking in displeased tones to your boys. Sprout and an exhausted Scout argue back, to your surprise. Axe is standing off to the side with a nervous, figiting Hunter. Quickly making your way over, you catch bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Friends, I’m sorry, but moving is out of the question.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Look at the shape of this house! If this was our world it would be condemned and bulldozed down!”

“Buddy, in case you haven’t noticed yet, this ain’t your world.”

“Really, genius?! We had no idea!”

“Why can’t we look elsewhere? Surely there’s better housing somewhere else?”

“Some of us do have some standards!”

“ _Standards?_ ” you hiss, catching the groups attention. “Must be great to live in a world where you have the _luxury_ of standards.”

The group goes silent as they watch you. This is the angriest they’ve seen you since their first day.

“We’ve been keeping you here on the homestead for protection,” you snarl. Blue and Gold take a step back at your tone. Several of the others bristle at your worlds. “Because you don’t understand the severity of this world. Perhaps, we’ve babied you for too long.”

“EXCUSE YOU?!” howls a furious Edge. 

“You might wanna think about your words, darlin’,” says Rus with a heated glare.

“Touch her,” starts Sprout in a dangerous tone.

“And you’ll be in for a bad time, bud,” finishes Scout, staring down Rus. Rus widens his stance, readying himself for a fight.

“Hey, now,” starts Vanilla. Blue sweat dots his skull. “Everyone needs take a moment and calm down.”

“Oh, shut up, Vanilla,” snaps Black. “This is all your fault anyways!”

“Black!” scolds Happy. “Do not blame Sans. My brother may have had a hand in this, but do not forget _your_ brother did also! 

“All of you need to hold your tongue!” snaps Razz. Catching the group off guard. Gold peaks out from behind his brother. “The human wasn’t done speaking. Let her finish.”

You meet Razz’s heated gaze and nod thankfully at him.

“All you know of this world is the homestead and what you have experienced here,” you start. “Razz knows a little more since he traveled with me once. Razz, how would you describe the town of Ebott?”

“A shit hole,” he says, not missing a beat. “Looks like a bomb went off and nobody ever bothered to fix the place.”

“Would you say any of those houses would make a good place to call home?” you ask. 

“Absolutely not,” he responds. Everyone has quieted down, listening intently. 

“That destruction is not limited to Ebott,” you say. “It’s world-wide. You’re not going to find an uninhabited place in good shape.”

“Why not find a place with others then?” asks Blue. “Isn’t survival chances increased with more people?” You stare Blue down for a moment before slowly looking around the group.

“Unfortunately, my friend,” Sprout starts, eye sockets down cast, “that is idealistic and not always the case.”

“Homesteads in this world have two main designs,” you start, carefully. “To keep out zombies, or to keep out humans. This is a place to keep out other humans.”

The group is dead quiet. 

“There are three main types of survivors in this world,” you explain. “You’ve heard me talk about traders. They’re the first group. The most respected group of survivors. Second are scavengers. I fall into this group. We avoid large groups and people, and would rather scavenge our own supplies as much as possible, and stay under the radar of other humans. We’re not against looting other groups, but we generally do not get violent unless we have too. Meaningless violence is a waste of bullets.”

“What’s the third group?” quietly asks Vanilla, eye lights dark. You feel your sins crawling on your back.

“They’re known as hunting groups.” says Scout. He side-eyes a rigid Hunter. “No relation to how your name came about, bud. You’re the good kind of hunter, a provider. These hunters are bad news.”

“Hunting groups usually go by the names of their leader,” you continue, frowning. “These survivors kill all and take everything. Everything is a sport. If hunters showed up here, I would be killed, skinned, and filleted,” several skeletons flinch, “and you would be killed and your dust collected for gardens. Monster dust is highly sought after by hunting groups. Apparently, it’s fantastic fertilizer for crops.”

Several of the skeletons look like they’re going to be sick.

“And how exactly, do you know this?” growls Rus. You meet his eyes, unfaltering. 

“You see a lot of weird shit trying to be sold by hunters,” you say. “I’ve told Razz this before, but only the truly desperate buy meat from traders. You never know _who_ it was.”

All of the skeletons, except your boys, look ill now. Your boys are already very aware of this. They hold no disillusions about your world and what it takes to survive.

Axe and Hunter flinch. Confirming a suspicion you had about them. Axe and Hunter stare at you, almost guiltily. You hold their gazes, understandingly and without judgment. A brief moment of clarity—that the three of you wish you didn’t have—passes over. It’s hard to avoid this kind of dirty laundry. It’s kill or be eaten, after all.

“This homestead is a great location,” you say, turning back to the others. “You’re not going to be able to find another one like it. We’re close to wild food, a water source, natural resources, relatively close to a trading post, a destroyed town, and not on a path most humans would travel.”

Looks like most of the skeletons have calmed down.

“As far as bases go, this one is well above average. The small house is the trade off.”

There is a moment of silence as the group processes the information.

“But not to worry friends!” chirps Sprout. “We can rebuild! There’s plenty of trees around! We can chop those down to fix the fence and patch the roof!”

“They won’t be pretty, but I know how to turn trees into some rough boards with an axe and some wedges,” adds in Scout. “With this many of us we should be able to fix the roof and most of the fence before night fall. Think I got an extra axe in the garage and a tool for smoothing rough lumber.”

“If you get the boards, Red and I should be able to get that roof fixed,” yawns Vanilla. Red glares at his blue counterpart.

“I told you fuckers to stop volunteering me for shit!”

“Oh! If Red’s working on the roof, I can work on the fence!” says Blue, raising his hand.

“I’ll aid the blueberry in fixing the fence,” states Razz. “Would be a waste of time if it’s easily broken, again.”

“Hey!”

“We have some experience in shaping wood to fit the needs at hand,” offers Hunter. Axe grins widely.

“I can also make sure nothing wanted hobbles too close, too,” Axe chimes in.

“I, the Great and Terrible Edge can fall trees in seconds!” boasts Edge. Black scoffs, drawing a glare from Edge.

“Well, I can fall trees in half the time!” boasts Black. The two begin to squabble about who can fall trees faster.

“I’ll make a trip into town,” you say. “I’ll pry off some shingles from an old house and see about finding some new windows.”

Stretch sighs and slings his arm around Rus’ shoulders. Rus is unmoved at the contact.

“Well, honey,” he starts, “I guess if you’re _window shopping_ then we’ll have to see about getting the sides of the house ready for ya.”

Blue and Happy groan.

Rus makes no acknowledgment of Stretch.


	11. Rebuilding

With the boys working on procuring lumber and fixing up the homestead, you take the bike and hitch into town. Your backpack has a hammer and a can for nails. This is not the scavenging trip you were hoping for, but needs come before wants. 

Ha, if you ever wrote an autobiography, that’s what you would name it, _“Needs Before Wants.”_

You park your bike in the garage of a central house of an old Ebott residential area. A nude zombie crawls towards you from the back of the garage. He’s missing his legs and has a tail made of spinal cord. A quick jab to the head with your knife and the zombie is taken care of. You situate your gear and pull out some string.

Two cut pieces of cordage is your measurements for the broken windows. Quietly, you go to several houses, measuring windows before you find a house with a couple of the right size. You eyeball the house from the outside. If you’re gentle, you should be able to get three windows out of this house. The rest are broken and no use to you.

The front door is locked. You crawl in through a broken window and unlock the door. There’s a growl behind you, you spin around and impale a female zombie up through the jaw with your knife. Nothing get the adrenaline pumping faster than a quiet zombie sneaking up on you. 

The rest of the house is clear, except for a pile of old bones in the bathroom. You feel bad for the poor guy who died in the bathroom. 

Carefully using your knife and hammer, you pry the trim away from both sides of the window with the nails still in the trim. The trim and nails will be coming with you. Cutting away the pealing caulking, you gently pop out the window and softly set it down on the ground outside. You take your knife to the dirty living room couch to wrap the window in some of it's fabric to minimize the chance of breaking the glass in transit. 

One window down, two more to go in this house.

You end up taking windows from three different houses to get the right sized eight windows, and purge the town of almost a dozen zombies. While windows and shingles are your first priority, you make sure to hit up the kitchens and do a quick sweep of each house to make sure you’re not leaving anything valuable behind. You’re proud to say you’ll also be bringing home a small old plastic seasoning jar of Alum powder, several aluminum cans, and single packet of yeast.

Shingles are easy to get in comparison to the windows. One of the two story houses had an upper window that you could crawl out of and hop down onto an addition and take the shingles from there. The first several shingles break before you can pry off several full shingles. The full shingles are tossed off the house onto the grass below for easier hauling. You take all the nails from the full and broken shingles and secure them in your nail can.

The sun is just past high noon when you rearrange your cargo on your hitch, making sure the shingles are covered and on the bottom, with the windows secured on top. A gurgle from your stomach reminds you lunchtime is past. You’re going to have to wait for dinner today. In fact, if Sprout’s helping with the rebuilding, you’ll be on dinner duty.

When was the last time you cooked dinner?

As you ponder dinner ideas, you take a sweep of the garage your in before departing. You find several loose screws, washers, and nails in a cabinet, and a torn piece of sandpaper in another. The lot is tossed into your nail can.

Content with your load, you start up your motorcycle and slowly drive home. Getting out of town, the smell of the clean air relaxes you. The wind always smells fresh after a good rain. Today would have been a pleasant day if not for the work waiting for you at home.

To your surprise, you see Edge standing on the good side of the house roof. His arms are crossed, and he appears to be watching for something. As you get closer, you can see his has his new sword on his hip. His red eyes glance at your arrival before continuing to scan the area. Good to see he’s stepped up and is scouting for undesirables.

Scout, Hunter and Axe are splitting fallen oak trees into rough boards on makeshift workbenches. You’ve seen your boys do this before. First they quarter the trees with their axes and wedges, then remove the inner cores of the trees. With the remaining wood, they use their axes and wedges to divide each quarter into two or three rough boards. 

It’s not a perfect method, but boy is it quieter than using any type of chainsaw—not that you guys have the spare fuel for a chainsaw.

Sprout, Happy and Gold attempt to smooth out some of the nicer looking boards with a long two handled metal tool, a hatchet, and some coarse sandpaper. No where near lumberyard quality, but it does make for better looking boards. Red magic hovers one of the finished boards into the air and up to the roof. Black is using his magic to distribute the boards between the three groups of workers. 

The best boards go to the roof where you can hear Vanilla and Red hammering nails. Boards that have been smoothed, but not as nice, go to Stretch and Rus, working on the sides on the house. You notice the outer layers of the damaged wood paneling have been removed and are piled near Blue and Razz at the fence. The worst of the boards go to reinforce and fix the fence. Razz appears frustrated at their lumber pieces, but the two do their best to make the fence as strong as possible.

Over all, the reconstruction projects seem to be going surprisingly smooth.

“It’s about time!” huffs Black as you drive up with your cargo. “The two on the roof are almost ready to start shingling and my brother and his lazy counterpart are ready for the windows.”

“Had to hit up several houses to get the right sized windows,” you explain, dismounting your motorcycle. “Also wanted to make sure not to damage anything and take all the nails. Also found some extra nails.” You fish out the can of nails and set them on the seat of your bike.

Black glares at you for a moment before using his magic to lift the can of nails to the roof.

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” he grumbles. You grin cheekily at him. He puffs and looks away from you. If feels like you’ve won something.

While the boys continue working, you make the rounds for dinner. Grabbing Sprout’s leather trapping bag and a basket, you make your way to check on Sprout’s traps. You see a rabbit hanging by it’s foot in the air when you approach the first set. Squinting, you notice the traps appear to be different than the last time you came to check them. It’s more...durable than before? Hunter must have made some upgrades to the traps. No complaints on your end.

You pack the rabbit into Sprout’s bag, reset the trap, and go to check the remaining three areas. The second trap is sprung, but only a small tuft of white and grey hair is caught. Looks like this critter got lucky. 

Unfortunately, the third trap’s bounty is being noisily eaten alive by a wondering female zombie. Poor rabbit must have been squealing to attract a zombie to it. As she’s distracted with her meal, you easily sneak up behind her and silence her with your knife. You take the time to drag her body to the burn pit. Edge keeps a close eye on you when you enter his line of sight with the body. There quite a few unburned corpses in the pit, you note. Most are beheaded with jagged cuts and chops.

Judging by volume of the burn pit, the armed boys have been kept very busy while you were away.

It is unsurprising. If a tree falls in the woods, zombies do hear it and are attracted to sounds. They’ll also steer towards flares of magic. These are risks that, unfortunately, need to be taken for repairs. 

Making your way to Sprout’s last trap, you find another hanging rabbit. To your delight, this one is noticeably bigger than the first rabbit. Rabbit stew tonight! Finding a nice sized patch of stinging nettles, you pick the tops off them and load up your basket with the greens. The boys should all be particularly hungry tonight, so you’ll have to make a little more to make up for the lost energy. 

You have just the thing.

Getting back home you go out near your shed to clean and skin the rabbits. You toss the pelts in a tanning solution for later. After rinsing off the nettles, you bring your ingredients into the kitchen. Seeing the mattresses, you pause cooking long enough to move the mattresses into the living room. They feel dry now.

You stoke the wood stove and get a nice fire going. Taking the largest pot you have, you place it next to your work space. The chopped rabbit pieces are the first thing into the pot, followed by a good pinch of sea salt. You pour enough clean water over the meat to completely submerge it before placing the pot on the stove. 

There’s several wilted plants in the pantry from Blue’s last foraging run. You make sure to grab all the ones that look like they’re close to going bad. No point in wasting perfectly good food. A quick chop and you add the wilted greens to the pot. The soup might be a bit thin for fifteen. You add some smoked bear chunks to beef it up. You hold off on adding the nettles until the rabbit is a bit more cooked. 

A perfect time to go snag some of Sprout’s rhubarb. Since the boys are doing such a good job working, a little reward is in order. Dinner will have a side of stewed rhubarb! 

You pick larger stalks of rhubarb. The ends are trimmed and left outside to compost. Using some clean rainwater, you give the vegetable a thorough wash. Shaking off the excess water, you bring the rhubarb into the kitchen. 

Chopping the stalks into small pieces, you toss the cut rhubarb into another pot. You pour in a little water to help keep it from burning. Pulling out the jar of maple syrup, you add a single spoonful to the mixture. A pinch of salt is added. You give the pot a quick stir and leave it to simmer.

You feel someone watching you. Turning your head, you meet Rus’ eyes. Stretch’s head pops up next and the kitchen window is fitted and installed. You open the window to give it a test. It opens easily and fits securely into the space. You give the boys a thumbs up. Stretch grins easily, while Rus smirks at you, his gold tooth shining in the sunlight. They continue to go around the house installing windows.

Ok, you’ll admit it, it’s weird seeing Rus’ show any positive face to you. He usually looks uninterested or angry.

As the sun lowers in the sky, you chop the basket full of nettles and add them to the stew. The stewed rhubarb has reduced. It is removed from the heat and divided out onto fifteen plates. Full jars of water and spoons are placed near the plates. 

You’re meticulous when dividing out the stew, ensuring everyone has an even amount of rabbit, bear chunks, greens and broth. As the last bowl is filled, tired voices fill the home. A tired and hungry skeleton army marches into the kitchen. The boys have excellent timing.

Scout and Sprout look particularly happy about the stewed rhubarb.

The tart dish and stew go over well with the group. Though, with how they inhale the food, you wonder if they even bother to pause eating long enough to taste the food. You don’t blame them, quickly devouring your own food.

Blue and Happy buzz about, cleaning up the attic and returning the dried mattresses to their sleeping space. Red and Vanilla fell asleep at the kitchen table after eating. Black is the one to announce the roof has been fixed, explaining Blue and Happy’s behavior. Razz scowls as he mentions the fence is close to being in acceptable condition for what they were given to work with.

Since you cooked, and arguably did the least amount of work, you wash the dishes. Edge surprises you yet again today by stepping next to you to rinse, dry, and put away the dishes. You wonder if his bony face is permanently structured to be a frown, but you don’t comment and continue to wordlessly pass scrubbed dishes to the taller skeleton.

It’s a comfortable silence, broken only by Sprout calling your name.

“You’re going on a job for the trader in the morning, yes?” confirms Sprout. Two sets of red eyes glance at you as Edge glances over and Red perks his head up.

“Yup, leaving first thing after breakfast,” you say, passing a clean bowl to Edge. “Hugh offered me a good amount of fuel to run supplies to the ocean coast trader.”

“Oh, brother was looking for more fuel for the machine!”

“Yup, it’s why I took the job. Going to check our supplies tonight and see if we have anything worth trading for salt since I’ll be there.”

“Oh, good!” smiles Sprout. “That’s exactly what I was going to ask about.”

“No worries, I got you,” you say with a soft smile. Edge dries off his skeletal hands and passes you the drying towel to do the same. You yawn as you go dump out the dirty dish water outside on the grass. When you return, you spy Edge carrying his sleeping brother to bed with a neutral face.

Huh, guess Edge’s face isn’t stuck in a frown after all.


	12. Red and Gold's Winter Prep Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zombietale Sans = Scout  
> Zombietale Papyrus = Sprout
> 
> Undertale Sans = Vanilla  
> Undertale Papyrus = Happy
> 
> Underfell Sans = Red  
> Underfell Papyrus = Edge
> 
> Underswap Sans = Blue  
> Underswap Papyrus = Stretch
> 
> Swapfell Sans = Black  
> Swapfell Papyrus = Rus
> 
> Swapfell RED Sans = Razz  
> Swapfell RED Papyrus = Gold
> 
> Horrortale Sans = Axe  
> Horrortale Papyrus = Hunter

“So, this is the big secret you two have been working on,” says Scout looking over the drawing.

Gold has a light yellow blush on his face as his work is evaluated by Sprout and Scout. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t like it,” says Red, smirking.

“It’s very well made,” compliments Sprout. “I like the style.”

“It’s well thought out,” muses Scout, setting down the hand drawn blueprint. “Putting up a cabin-style woodshed near the smokehouse is a good idea. Ground there is pretty level, too.”

“It will be nice to have a shed to store and dry wood in!” Sprout praises. “Snow and ice stuck to our firewood stacks is always a pain in the winter. If you two are helping, we can actually construct it without worrying about attracting unwanted attention!”

“I think we can pull most of this off by nightfall with enough help,” agrees Scout. “Especially if we use a bit of magic. Axe and Edge should be able to pick off any guests that come too close.”

“It’ll be nice being the one _volunteering_ that damn blueberry, for once,” darkly grins, Red.

“What about the magnificent me?” says Blue popping into the garage. He spies the blueprint on the workbench. “Oh! Edgy me! What’s this?”

“Red an’ Gold here wanna make a woodshed-cabin-thing,” says Rus, tying some wires on the machine. “Something about makin’ stayin’ ‘ere over winter better and acceptin’ the fact we’ll be here for a while.”

“Ain’t like the machine’s gonna be done soon anyways,” grumbles Red, crimson magic on his cheekbones. 

Blue’s eyes are stars.

“Edgy me! That’s great news! I knew you could apply yourself if you tried!”

“Oi! Go fuck yourself!”

“LANGUAGE, EDGY ME!”

“Not to be a downer,” says Vanilla from under the machine. “But shouldn’t the walls and fence be finished first? _Wood beam_ like a lot of extra work.”

Blue looks blankly at his lazy alternate. Vanilla shoots him finger guns.

“Razz won’t let me touch the fence!” pouts Blue, arms crossing and cheeks puffing out. “He’s set on finishing it himself! He’s thinks he can build it better than me!”

“Crooks—er, Hunter ‘an Axe took over for me an’ the orange,” Rus says, disinterested. “I guess we weren’t workin’ fast enough for ‘em.”

“Well,” Scout starts while stretching, “Axe being near the house will be good. Edge likes to patrol anyway. First thing’s first, though. If we wanna cabin, we’ll need to chop down some more trees.”

“Oh! I’ll chop! I can do that!” Blue runs out of the garage, towards the woods.

The skeletons stare at the dust trail Blue leaves behind.

“He...does realize he didn’t grab an axe...?” says a concerned Sprout, head tilting to the side.

“Don’t think he was planning on using an axe,” shrugs Red.

Sprout shakes his head at Blue’s antics and grabs his sword.

“I suppose I’ll make sure he doesn’t attract too much danger, flinging his magic around.”

Scout grabs the spare axe. 

“Right behind you, bro,” he says. Scout turns to Gold and Axe. “If you want to gather some of the pit ash, dry grass and dig up some clay dirt, we’ll meet up with ya after we got some good starting logs.”

Your butt hurts.

It’s been a good while since you last had a road trip. The ten gallons of fuel secured on your hitch makes it worth it. Paps will be pleased with the sizable jar of salt you’re bringing home, too. Hopefully, it will make your tall bone boy smile.

His smile is worth protecting.

You hope the boys like the neat shells and bits of sea glass you picked up for them, too.

Rolling up to the homestead in the dim light of dusk, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. There’s something new outside? Slowing down, you pull in front of the structure, headlight shining on the small log cabin. You don’t bother taking off your backpack as you dismount your bike.

You were only gone for the day! How did they—?

“Friend!” cheers Sprout. His smile is wide and his hands are covered in mud. Scout gives you a quick wave with dirty hands before smearing more mud between the gaps of the logs. “Welcome home!”

“Thanks,” you say. Your eyes are filled with excitement as you look at the building. “Looks like you guys have been busy!”

“It was Red and Gold’s idea!” Blue says as he bounces over from the other size of the building. You watch as he takes glob of the wet dirt and goes back to the other side of the cabin. “And I, the magnificent Blue, helped!”

Your impressed eyes drift over to Red and Gold. Their faces were glowing softly with red and yellow magic. 

“Can I look?” you ask softly, almost in childish wonder. The magic on their faces burn slightly brighter.

“Just don’t step inside the cabin,” mumbles Red as Gold nods affirmatively. “Floor’s wet. Will need a couple of days to dry.”

“Wet?” you question, slowly walking around the cabin.

“Made a kind of cement mixture out of ashes from the burn pit, some dry grass, and clay we dug up,” says Scout. “It’s what we’re sealing the walls off with now. Made a bigger batch of the stuff and smoothed it out on the inside to make a floor. Thought it would be better than having a straight dirt floor.”

Ah! So the dirt on them isn’t mud then. You’re pleased that the pit ash went to something useful.

Your eyes take in every inch of the cabin. The walls are just taller than Sprout and the roof is at a wide angle. The logs are notched and fit together with each other almost perfectly. Each log is stripped of it’s bark, but the bark isn’t wasted. The bark was carefully peeled off each log into long strips and layered onto the roof as shingles on top of the cabin. A doorway is cut out of the logs on one wall, but no door is attached yet. You figure it’s to ensure the inside dries properly.

This looks awesome!

“Are some of you going to move in?” you ask, very impressed with the building.

“Nah, sweetheart,” says Red giving the cabin a pat. “This is going to be for wood storage. Could work as shelter if we absolutely had too, but the house will be better. Cabins like this only last a few years max and need regular maintenance to stick around longer.”

You have a hard time processing this building’s use as just a woodshed.

“It’s almost a waste,” you say eyeing the building in delight. “Using such a good looking cabin as a woodshed. It looks sturdy and well made. I can’t wait to see it from the inside!”

Five dirty skeletons straighten up in pride at your genuine praise.

“Hmph!” you hear Razz from behind you. “That cabin may be acceptable, but at the fence is designed to protect and last!”

Your attention is brought to the finished fence. The two destroyed sides are repaired and fortified with extra scrap wood. Wooden stakes are carved and protrude from the fence to give a sharp surprise to any zombie fool enough to walk straight into it. Razz went above and beyond and fitted the entire fence with a line of spikes. Looks like even the undamaged fencing was reinforced.

As you walk over to the fence, you hear an annoyed huff behind you. Was that Blue?

Walking up to the fence you knock on it experimentally. It feels surprisingly solid from the scrap wood and few nails it’s made from. Light tugging on the carved spikes reveals a similar sturdiness. The rough boards promise many long, painful splinters if not handled carefully. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you’re actually impressed with the fence, too.

“Don’t let my red counterpart fool you,” says Black, annoyed. He stands nearby with his arms crossed. “The spikes were my idea and most were carved by my hand.”

“Security is of utmost importance, _regardless_ of who’s idea it was,” huffs Razz, glaring at Black and crossing his own arms. They look like mirror images of each other. You glance at their hands and see several small strips of cloth tied to their phalanges. You look away from them and return to inspecting the fence.

“Agreed,” you say, studying the fence. Black and Razz stop glaring and stare at you expectantly. “Good work, we should all be able to sleep a little better with a stronger fence.”

You don’t see it, but Razz and Black smirk and send smug looks to the cabin crew. 

“Walls are fixed, too!” chirps Hunter, he and Axe coming from around the back of the house.

“ _Wood_ you like to see?” grins Axe. You snort in amusement while several groans fill your ears.

“Thought Stretch and Rus were working on this?” you question, walking over to the brothers. 

“They were,” confirms Hunter. “But those lazybones were taking much too long!” 

“What can we say?” grins Stretch, appearing next to the garage. He leans against the garage and winks. “We were a _skeleton crew_.”

A balanced mix of snickers and complaints fill the air. You smirk while looking over the house.

Smoother wood boards were fitted into the places the original boards were. It wasn’t a perfect fit as several places bulge and bow, but it is to be expected with the lumber used. The walls are a bit rough, mismatched and unpainted, but you feel much more at ease having the demolished wood replaced.

The homestead is really starting to get back into shape. You can get behind that.


	13. Gold Works It (Soap)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I will be out of town this weekend for a wedding, you all get to celebrate too with an early chapter!  
> Thank you for all the love for this story! It's gotten more attention and love than I ever thought it would. It fills my heart with joy!

Once again, Gold stands next to you at your workshop/shed. You’re showing him how to use a flint and steel to get an ember on a piece of char cloth. He twitches nervously every time you strike the flint and steel together. Gold breathes a soft sigh of relief when you get an ember on the cloth and add it to a pile of tinder. Fire sparks to life in your hands.

You quickly stuff the flaming tinder into your outdoor wood stove. The fire slowly catches onto the wood chunks inside. You close the small cast iron door to the stove.

Today, your teaching this nervous wreck one of your most valuable skills. Soap making, and all the steps in between. Ideally, this should go over more smoothly than the pelts did.

“So, after you get the stove going, you’re going to want to make sure it doesn’t get too hot,” you say. “We’re going to need it to be at a nice low heat for most of the cooking after the initial boil.”

Gold nods in understanding. You nod back and disappear inside your shed for a moment before returning will a bucket clean water and a bucket of...dirty water?

“This step is done a few days in advance,” you start, setting the buckets down. You gesture to the bucket of dirty water. “This is lye water. It’s made from soaking a mixture of hardwood ash in clean rainwater for several days. We’re going to need this discolored liquid on top. Bucket of clean water is for if you get any of the liquid on your hands. Not sure what it does to bone, but if it’s anything like it will do to skin, you’ll want to rinse that off quick.”

Yellow drops of magic sweat coat Gold’s skull. You give him a reassuring grin and firm pat on the back. Gold lurches in startled surprise at the contact. 

“Just need a careful hand when pouring off the lye water,” you say, grabbing a large steel cooking pot and setting it on the ground. A clean cloth is tossed over the top of the pot to strain. You slowly begin pouring the liquid into the pot. “We want little to no ash in the pot. It’s also really important to use a steel cook pot and a wood spoon. The liquid reacts with a lot of other metals and other stuff. Don’t fully understand the science behind it, but just remember steel pot, wood spoon.”

You notice Gold seems to understand the reaction bit of of the explanation. Is he into science stuff like Scout is? How come he doesn’t help the others with building the machine then? 

A question for another time, you suppose.

Once most of the liquid is poured, you set the bucket of ash sludge down. You remove the cloth from the pot and toss it off to the side to be rinsed and washed later. Picking up the pot of lye water, you set it on the burner of the outdoor stove.

“Pretty important to do this either outside or in well ventilated area,” you say, checking the temperature of the stove. “As it cooks down it makes fumes. But that’s more toxic for me than you, since you don’t have lungs.”

You hand Gold a long wood spoon. He takes it and looks between you and the spoon. 

“Now we let it boil and reduce a bit,” you say. “We’ll have to strain it again to get any of the extra ash that settles to the bottom out. Then we’ll give it a float test with one of your magic bones. Most use an egg, but we don’t have any and Scout and I once found out on accident that magic attack bones work just as good. Once the bone floats, it will be at the right strength and we can move on to adding the warmed tallow and salt.”

Gold stands awkwardly in front of the stove, watching the lye water boil down. He’s still holding the spoon in the same position from when you handed it to him. As he guards the pot, you slowly weave and stitch rabbit pelts together to start the beginnings of a winter blanket. It usually takes about three days and forty pelts to make a nice Sans’ sized blanket. A Papyrus sized blanket takes about one-hundred of them and a couple more days.

“Why?”

Human fingers pause blanket making. You’re almost startled by the sound of Gold’s voice. 

“Why, what?” you ask, continuing to work the pelts.

“Why are you showing me how to do this?” he asks, voice quiet. “Wouldn’t Blue or Happy be better suited for this?”

You’re confused by his tone. It’s not angry. It almost sounds...helpless? Glancing over, you see his eyes are down cast and mouth corners are turned down. Does he feel overshadowed by the energetic skeletons?

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind teaching Blue and Happy how to make soap. However, you feel there would be a lot of wasted product in their...enthusiasm. Not something you can afford to have.

“Nah, you’re the only candidate for this.”

Gold jerks his head to you in surprise.

“Blue and Happy would probably be thrilled to learn,” you start, “but would be too impatient and wasteful in the process. I can’t imagine Razz, Edge, Red, Black or Rus thinking soap-making would be worth their time. Vanilla and Stretch would rather nap or work on the machine. Axe and Hunter might already know how to make soap, but are busy doing other jobs. I know my boys already know how to make soap but, again, are too busy doing other jobs to help. Soap takes time and patience to turn out right.”

You notice he looks conflicted with your explanation. Maybe you need to say it differently?

“You’re the only one I trust enough to do the job and do the job right.”

Gold’s face glows yellow with magic. 

“Ok,” he says shyly, accepting your answer.

“I get to ask one now, right?” you grin, not looking up from the blanket.

“O-ok.”

“Why was everyone being weird at lunch the day of the horde attack?”

The inhuman squawk that comes from Gold makes you snap your head to your companion, a hand on your pistol and looking for danger. Gold is pulling his hood over his yellow glowing skull. You move your hand off your gun.

The skeleton is trying hard to form words, but between the stuttering and the hood muffling his voice, it takes a good while before he can actually speak again.

“D-dating ma-manual,” you eventually make out of the hot mess of a skeleton.

“Dating?” you question. Gold pulls his hood up just enough to look at your face. He’s taken back by the genuine look of confusion on your face.

Wait...there’s no way...you have to know what that word means...?

“D-dating,” he awkwardly confirms, “W-when you want to be with someone...?”

“Like friends?”

“N-no!” panics Gold, waving his hands, still gripping the spoon. His entire skull is a beacon of yellow magic. “L-like deciding you want to settle down with someone!”

Gold wants to curl up in a hole when he sees your blank face.

“Like living together?”

“K-kinda…”

“Like we are now?”

“ _N-no!_ ” he screeches. You’ve never heard Gold speak so loudly before. “L-like getting married...h-having kids…?”

Your mind goes blank at that explanation.

Kids…?!

“Wait…!” your eyes widen as you begin to finally understand the implications. “But all I did was bathe?! Is that actually sexual to skeletons?!”

Gold looks like he wants to be anywhere else right now.

“Not b-bathing explicitly,” he says, burying his face in his hoodie again. “B-but being vulnerable around some of us c-could come off that way…it was the clothes.”

Huh?

“Wait, my clothes? What about my clothes?”

“M-most of our worlds have a dating manual,” quietly explains Gold. “D-dating manual says that when a person changes their outfit out of the blue they...they’re advertising t-they’re looking to date.”

“And since I usually wear the same clothes…”

“Y-yeah…”

You bury your head in your hands.

GOOD GOD.

But...but that’s just your trader run routine. The boys even knew you were making a trader run! Clothes? WHY CLOTHES?! Why was this never brought up with your boys before? 

“B-by the way,” he points to the pot. “The bone is floating.”

Bless this change in direction. 

“OK!” you say loudly, startling the poor guy. You set the blanket aside and meet Gold at the stove. “Now we’re going to strain it out again, give the pot a quick wash, and pour in the tallow. About one cup of fat for every three-eighths cup of concentrated lye water. We’ll need a hefty pinch of salt for each cup too. Salt helps harden it.”

You firmly decide you no longer want to think about dating stuff for now.

“We’ll need to stir it for a long time. Then once it thickens and traces, we’ll pour it into molds and let the soap cure in the shed for about a month. Our soap doesn’t bubble, but it will clean everything we need it to.”

Yup, just making soap, here! So _relaxing_.


	14. He Needs Some Help

You feel the mattress shift as Sprout wakes up. Broken bouts of sleep made it hard for you to get a good nights rest. Judging by Sprout’s sluggish responses, he didn’t sleep well either.

“Sorry friend,” he yawns, rubbing at his eye sockets. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” you mumble, mirroring Sprout. “Was already awake. Didn’t sleep much.”

“Same, unfortunately…” says Sprout, looking frustrated.

“Want to talk about it?” you offer. You glance out the dark window. “Sun’s not up yet. What’s in that skull of yours?”

You both make yourselves comfortable, sitting up against the wall and piling the bedding around you two. The makeshift nest is mandatory for when you and Sprout talk about nightmares and things bothering the two of you. It’s chilly this morning and the wall is cold. He tosses the blanket over both of your laps. Sprout sighs and figits with the corner of the blanket. 

“Do you think…” he starts softly. “If our world’s Frisk would have been able to reset, they would have killed my brother or I as some point?”

“No.”

He’s almost caught off by your abrupt, confident answer. Sprout stares hard at his lap. 

“Are you certain?” your tall boy looks broken. It hurts you. “I heard from the other’s that their Frisks—”

“Papyrus, look at me,” you demand. He gives you his full attention. It’s been such a long time since you’ve used his real, full name. 

“I don’t know about other world Frisks. In fact,” you grin weakly, “the more I find out about the others’ worlds, the more weirded out I get.”

Sprout lets out a soft “nyeh heh heh.” It’s a good sound.

“Here’s what I do know,” you start, staring directly into his eye lights. 

“Frisk was born after the war, and after the start of the zombie apocalypse. They were a survivor, just like me. You offered them paradise. A safe haven from zombies, food, shelter, and close friendship with a pair really cool guys. Your Frisk would have sided with you every time. If Frisk could reset, I think the only thing they would have changed would be to be by your side longer.”

Bony arms wrap around you. A quiet sob reaches your ears. You firmly return the embrace, knowing Paps has been needing to let this out for a while now. Frisk meant a lot to him and Sans.

Let it out, beansprout…

Once dawn peaks through the window, Sprout finally releases you. Blood orange tears are dried. He looks much better than when he first woke up. Sprout did not actually say it, but wouldn’t be surprising to hear he had a nightmare about Frisk last night. Frisk’s death was Pap’s biggest regret, after all.

“Well, best friend,” Sprout says with more energy, “shall we get breakfast going? I think some company this morning would be lovely.”

“My dear, cool sir,” you smile, making him grin and blush happily. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Scrounging up breakfast is a little harder this morning than it has been. There’s just enough dried meat for one more light meal, and the forage pile was used up for last night’s dinner. Sprout leaves to check the traps before breakfast to see if the morning meal can be a little heartier than some bear scraps. 

You decide to boil the bear jerky to soften it for breakfast. Little easier on the stomach and jaw. Looks like some sort of soup for breakfast it is. Pulling out your knife, you begin to cut the jerky into small chunks. It takes a bit of strength and cutting to separate the pieces.

“Good morning, human!” greets Happy. You look behind you at him and greet him with a small smile, before returning to breakfast prep. “What’s on the agenda today? Anything I can help with?”

“Could you get the soup pot full of clean water for me?” you ask, paying attention to the slicing.

“Of course, human!” 

When Happy returns with a full pot of water, you pause cutting to pour off a few top inches worth of water into a kettle for dandelion coffee. Happy weaves around the kitchen, getting bowls, spoons, and drinking jars ready for breakfast. He wanders next to you and watches you cut up the bear and stick it into the warming soup pot. 

Happy reminds you of your Papyrus. You wonder if this is how Sprout could have been if life would have been different. In the end, you decide, it doesn’t matter. You will take your Paps over any other.

You’re almost done with cutting the bear when Vanilla sleepily enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, brother!” greets Happy, from his spot next to you. “You’re up surprisingly early!”

“Heh, mornin’ bro—”

You feel the air in the kitchen change as you turn around to greet Vanilla. Vanilla’s eyes are trained on the knife in your hand. Blue sweat is coating his skull. Since the first day of the others’ arrival, you and Vanilla have been awkwardly stepping around each other, trying not to set the other off. You had been putting forth effort into not using your knife when around him. He appeared to appreciate it, but would still get nervous when you would use the blade. His eye lights wobble as they shift from you to Happy.

“Brother, are you feeling alright? As much as I condone your laziness, brother, this is unlike you.”

You feel you’re being hunted. Stay calm, no sudden movements. Nice and easy, you just need to set the knife down and this moment will pass. Just…set...the...knife...dow—

The kettle behind you whistles. 

Flinching, grip on your knife tightening in response.

You know you fucked up the second Vanilla’s eye lights go dark.

“Brother!” Happy panics as one of his brother’s dark sockets fills with blue magic. “You need to calm down! This is unnecessary! We are just preparing breakfast!”

Vanilla can’t hear his brother.

You drop the knife on the cutting board as a blue bone attack whizzes by your face. There! You’re unarmed! You flash your open hands to Vanilla. He should calm down no--

“Ah!” gasps Happy as he holds a hand to his rib cage. One of Vanilla’s attacks nicked one of his ribs. Ok, now your angry and you can feel it fill your chest. The sound of Happy’s pain roars the blue magic stronger. 

“B-brother!”

Your SOUL is pulled from your chest and the world appears stripped of it’s color. Shit...an encounter.

Another wave of blue bones are summoned. The kitchen is too small to dodge out of the way and Happy isn’t summoning magic to defend himself. You decide against drawing your pistol and instead act by stepping in front Happy to shield him. 

_Come on, think!_ You could probably knock most of them away with a dining chair? Is that how blue magic works?! Or is not moving the answer?! Which one is it? Your boys haven’t needed to use battle magic in a long time. You feel cold panic in your SOUL. You can’t remember how blue magic works. Was Happy moving when he got hit? You didn’t see.

Vanilla’s bone attacks are sharpened on the ends. His intent is to hurt.

MOVE OR STAND STILL?!

“ ** _Buddy..._** ”

Vanilla pauses for a moment as your obscured from his vision. The world returns to color as your SOUL returns to your chest.

Axe stands between you and Vanilla, one hand holding a dirty hatchet, the other tugging on the corners of his gaping skull wound.

“Are you _out of your mind?_ ” sinisterly grins Axe, singular red eye glowing bright.

“Friends,” says Hunter appearing by Happy’s side. “Are you alright?” A green glow flickers in and out on Hunter’s hand as he tries to heal Happy’s rib. Unfortunately, Hunter’s magic is unstable and is ineffective at healing. Happy thanks him for his effort, but his eyes are focused on his brother. 

How long has it been since he’s seen his brother get this bad?

Vanilla fires his bone attacks at Axe. Axe knocks the projectiles away with the hatchet, glowing in his own magic.

“Stupid move,” rumbles Axe. He thrusts his hand forward and Vanilla is pinned to the wall behind him by his SOUL. Axe rattles as he tries to hold his alternate, but his magic was never the same after starving so for long. Vanilla breaks the hold, only to be shoved back into the wall again, harder.

The kitchen is getting crowded.

“Tha’s enough,” frowns Rus as he holds Vanilla with his magic. Vanilla’s bones rattle as he struggles to get out of the hold. Happy looks about ready to cry as he’s struggling to get past Hunter to his brother. Your anger spikes as you march around Axe and crack Vanilla across the face with your open palm.

The sound of the hit stills the room.

Despite the stinging, you make no indication your hurt. Instead you glare into Vanilla’s eye sockets. 

Vanilla’s eye lights return. He’s not dusting, despite having been hit.

He panic shortcuts out of the room the second Rus releases him.

A house meeting is called after breakfast.

Hunter, Axe, and yourself explain what happened that morning from their point of view to the group with Rug giving an occasional nod towards the end. Happy is nervously wringing his hands together as he tries to simultaneously tell the truth and not get his brother into more trouble.

Vanilla looks like he’s ill as he leans back in the couch, not saying much.

Sprout and Scout are trying to contain their anger.

“So, to be clear,” starts Scout, staring at Vanilla. Scout takes a calming breath. He’s too tired from night watch for this bullshit. “They were making breakfast, being in generally good spirits, and you flip shit because she was near your brother with a knife.”

“Heh…” humorously laughs Vanilla. He looks exhausted. “When you put it that way…”

“Yes,” you spit, venomously. “When we put it that way, you’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you.”

“Human!” scolds Blue. “That’s too harsh!”

“That’s harsh?” you glare. “Attacking his own brother and injuring him with killing intent is ‘too harsh?’ Attacking someone who had _clearly_ been using a knife for cooking is ‘too harsh?’”

“Ease up,” Stretch says frowning at you. “Blue’s not condoning what Vanilla did.”

“And she’s not being harsh,” snaps Sprout, leaning forward aggressively. All attention is focused on Sprout, skeletons not used to hearing him raise his voice. He sighs and runs a hand down his face to calm himself. 

“Friends,” he starts again, “We called a house meeting to discuss what should be done about Vanilla. It’s a show of good faith and understanding that our worlds are very different in handling these matters. Attacking someone in their own home is a _very serious_ offense. One that I think most of you can understand. What would a proper punishment be in your worlds?”

“Death,” Edge, Black and Razz immediately state. Hunter looks away as Axe gestures to his hatchet in agreement. 

Blue, Gold, Stretch and Happy freeze at the suggestion. Vanilla’s eye lights are dark and is very still. He’s broken out in a magical sweat. Rus is unmoved, while Red’s skull also breaks out in a magical sweat. 

“Heh,” humorlessly huffs Scout. “And you lot keep sayin’ our worlds are different.”

“W-wait!” panics Happy, standing up. “Please do not hurt my brother! He needs help! He’s been unstable for a while now, but he was doing so much better before coming to this world! I implore you to find a different punishment!”

You huff as you relax in your chair.

“Relax, Happy,” you grunt. “We’re not killing him.”

A wave of confused relief fills the room.

“Agreed,” yawns Scout. “Sorry to _rattle your bones_ guys, but you need to understand that actions do have consequences here. Usually of the kill kind. However, Vanilla’s experience with the machine is too valuable to dispatch of.”

“Gee,” sneers Rus, “Thanks for tha’ comfortin’ thought.” 

“It’s the truth,” shrugs Scout. “Remember, wasting is highly looked down upon. We will figure out a way to help Vanilla—attacking someone again will **not** be tolerated—but it will take time. Therapist isn’t exactly an occupation that survived the apocalypse, unfortunately. Vanilla will be punished, but not by us.”

“I figure it will be you?” Vanilla mumbles, looking at you. You snort.

“Nah,” you say, crossing your arms. “You’ll have to settle for that slap I gave ya. Would have rather punched you in the guts. Lucky for you, you don’t have any.”

Vanilla pauses as your words register.

“I can confirm. I am feeling pretty _gutless_ right now,” weakly grins Vanilla.

“Really, Sans?!” screeches Happy, suddenly distracted. “You pun now of all times?!”

“Sorry bro, just waiting for my _pun-_ ishment.”

“YOUR PUNISHMENT IS MY PUNISHMENT!”

“Correct!” chimes in Sprout. “Since Happy was the one actually injured, he will decide his brother’s punishment.”

“Heh,” Sans huffs in relief. “Hear that bro, guess you’re the _judge_ now.”

“Sans.”

“Yeah, bro?”

Vanilla’s skull breaks out in blue sweat as Happy puts a firm hand on his shoulder. Happy’s face is a tight smile.

“YOU ARE GOING TO BE DOING SO MUCH LAUNDRY.”


	15. Wasteland Therapy

Things are tense between you and Vanilla.

Not that the two of you were ever really comfortable around each other, but the day of the house meeting appears to have made things more awkward between you two. Vanilla is actively avoiding you, and when the two of you are near each other, you two are walking on eggshells around each other. It’s been irritating the other skeletons living here.

“You two need to get over your infantile issues and start acting like the adults you are!” Black had sneered. “We’re stuck with each other! Get over it!”

Easy for Black to say. He’s not the one having the episodes or the one being attacked for it. Scout’s advice wasn’t much better, unfortunately.

“Our best bet is to have you and Vanilla try to bond with each other and get it through to his SOUL you’re his ally, not his enemy,” said Scout. “It’s not a perfect solution, but we don’t have very many options here. None of us are qualified to really help him, nor do we have the resources to try to medicate him.”

“Wait, is there a medicine for this for monsters?” you had asked. 

“Technically,” sighed, Scout. “There’s a tincture that can be made from the underground echoflowers, but it’s a highly addictive substance and has mixed results.” The look Scout gave you made a chill run down your spine. “Do you really want to bring something like that onto the property?”

Of course you don’t, but you still filed that information away for later.

Honestly, you’re still not thrilled about Scout’s advice. However, your Sans is right about pretty much everything, so you trust his judgment. It doesn’t help you have zero ideas on how to bond with the lazier of the Sans’. The two of you don’t exactly have a lot in common from what you’ve seen.

All Vanilla has done beside being unstable is work on the machine, occasionally pull his weight around the homestead with repairing stuff, and sleep. Oh, and laundry now...no matter how slow he is at it. Happy has ensured that Vanilla is to do all the laundry, and only when the days laundry is done may he work on the machine or do something else. Happy makes him rewash clothes too, if he’s not content with the cleanliness level. You almost laughed when you saw him try to hand wash your socks for the first time. A blushing mess desperately trying not to look, but having to since he’s washing everything by hand. You might not know a lot about monster culture, but your boys were sure you knew at least that one. Seriously, what’s with monsters and clothes?

Getting back on track, there has to be something else, right? He’s supposedly your Sans, but from a non-zombie world, right? Scout enjoys tinkering and science stuff. Vanilla probably enjoys that too, but your building skills and resources for that stuff is limited. Maybe you could take Vanilla for a scavenging run?

No, no. Way too dangerous. Too many ways that can backfire. You’ll need something with as little risk of zombie encounters as possible.

Scout likes stars, right? Most of the skeletons like looking up at the sky at night. You glare at the cloud cover. Unfortunately, looks like the stars won’t be out tonight...not that you know much about stars. You can use them to navigate, but stories behind them? Not so much. Besides, you would rather start working on a solution to Vanilla’s issues with you as soon as possible. Tomorrow is never guaranteed.

What does that leave? Scout carves, but Vanilla doesn't look to be the crafting type. Plus—obviously—anything that uses a knife is out until further notice. Anything that involves a weapon, really. Napping and lazying about isn’t really your style. Is there a task that could be minimal, but still productive that you could both do?

Fishing! Fishing is relaxing, right? Wait, does Vanilla even fish? Well, Black and Edge did, so it’s the best bet you have for now.

You walk over to your shed and grab two empty buckets, plus a small hand shovel. Digging for worms behind the shed, you find several worms per shovel full. The soil is replaced after each dig. After gathering—hopefully—enough worms, you coat the top of the worms in a little soil to keep them alive. 

Walking into the garage, you grab two fishing hand lines and some extra hand carved bone hooks. Ruffling through Scout’s workbench, you find a small sealable container to place the extra hooks in. Rus looks over at you blankly from the machine. You give him a nod before leaving with your fishing supplies, feeling Rus’ gaze on you as you go. You place the hand lines and hooks in the empty bucket. Picking up a bucket in each hand, you take a deep breath. Don’t look nervous, seller face on. 

Here goes...something.

Vanilla is struggling to throw wet clothes onto a clothesline to dry when you find him. After scrubbing and rinsing the laundry by hand, he looks exhausted. You feel like there’s some joke in this about monster culture, clothes, and having to hand wash them. He looks startled when you set the buckets down next to him and help him put up the remaining clothes to dry. 

“Er, thanks kid,” he says, blue sweat appearing on his skull. “Did ya need something?”

“Want to go fishing with me?” you ask, nonchalant. Vanilla’s look of surprise is hidden by the wet blanket he’s hanging up.

“Heh, everyone else too busy?” he asks, not meeting your eyes. 

“You’re the only one I’ve asked.”

“Oh, uh...well, Pap—er, Happy has me doing a _skele_ -ton of laundry—”

“Did I hear you wanted to go fishing together?” says Happy, checking on his brother. His smile is almost painfully radiant. “That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll take over the laundry, brother! BUT JUST FOR TODAY! You two go spend some quality time together! Nyeh heh heh!”

“...heh, thanks, bro. You’re the coolest…”

The walk to the river is quiet and feels so much longer than it actually is. When the river bank comes into view, you find yourself wanting to throw yourself in to get out of this. Yes, this was your idea, but Vanilla clearly didn’t want to be here. It’s making you anxious and cracking the facade you put on.

“Follow me,” you say, softly. Vanilla’s eyes quickly meet yours, not expecting your voice. “I know a good spot.”

“ _Lead_ on,” weakly grins Vanilla. You give a nervous chuckle and lead him down river.

SO. AWKWARD.

“Woah,” you hear Vanilla’s voice whisper as he finds your hidden fishing spot. “You built this?”

You give him a genuine smile and nod. On the river bank is an open faced shelter made out of flat river stones. Moss has grown around the outside, camouflaging it. It looks like a hill from a distance. A perfect little hidey-hole to fish at.

“Made it a few years ago to stay hidden when fishing from anything wandering by,” you explain. “It’s held up pretty good so far.” 

“Nice,” says Vanilla, relaxing a bit. 

You get Vanilla’s hand line set up and thread a worm onto the hook for him. He plops the line into the river and sits down on ground, leaning his back on the stone wall. After getting your line ready, you sit down and join him.

Vanilla catches the first fish—a perch—after a few minutes of silence. The empty bucket is filled with river water and the perch is tossed into the bucket. While he his putting a new worm on his hook, you catch another perch of similar size. It takes a few moments to get the hook out of your fish as it swallowed the hook. Soon enough your line is back in water.

“So…” you start, noncommittal. Vanilla raises a brow bone at you.

“Something _nibbling_ at ya?”

“Got a favorite food?”

Vanilla snorts in humor at the mundane question. Hey, at least you’re trying here!

“Liked going to Grillby’s in my world for his burgers and fries. Loved his ketchup, too. You kid?”

“For Gyftmas, my Paps and I make cookies out of acorn meal and maple syrup. We look forward to them every year.”

“You celebrate Gyftmas?” he asks, surprised.

“First full moon after the first snowfall. Been celebrating it with the boys for the last five winters.”

“You guys have lived together for five years?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum affirmatively. You get a new tug on the line and pull in a small sunfish. “What’s ketchup taste like?”

Vanilla actually sputters at the question, before realizing you’re completely serious. Part of him cries on the inside for you.

“Only the most delicious thing to ever be made with a tomato, but don’t let my Paps hear that,” he says with an exaggerated wink. You grin in response. “It’s created to be the perfect blend of salty, sweet, and tangy, hitting the tongue in all the right places.”

“But you don’t have a tongue?”

Vanilla shoots you finger guns. You roll your eyes. He pulls another perch, but breaks his hook. You pull out a spare bone hook and knot it to his fishing line. Vanilla grins at you before baiting his hook.

“So, what’s the story with this world’s surface?” Vanilla asks. You note he’s trying hard to look uninterested in your answer. Razz had done the same thing when asking about something he was actually interested in. Why do they try hide it? Do they think you'll not answer if they show real interest? Is that a thing in their worlds?

“You mean like why it’s shit or why there’s zombies?”

“...both?”

You yawn before trying to get comfortable. Not that dirt and rocks will ever really be comfortable.

“About fifty years ago, the surface world had a third world war.”

“Humans nuked each other?” guessed Vanilla.

“No, humans and mages went to war with each other.”

Vanilla is dead quiet and listens intently.

“There’s debate over what started the war, but most people agree it was the witch hunts that never actually stopped. Mages got tired of living in fear and built themselves a mage army. First they took down communications and major power sources, then they blighted major crop lands and farms to destroy renewable food sources. Humans began to fight among themselves as rations were seized by the human military to fight the mages. Lot of land today still won’t grow food from the decay magic. Small gardens pop up in the areas that can.”

Vanilla winces at the mental image. Suddenly a lot about the weird surface magic makes sense. You grin humorlessly.

“Hey, Vanilla,” you start, “how many mages does it take to take down a major city?”

He’s not sure he likes the joke format.

“How many?”

“Three,” you say in clear distaste. Vanilla feels an icy chill in his bones. “At the start of the war, there were only about two hundred trained battle mages in the entire army. All it would take is a squad of three elite mages to take down a sizable city. Humans with their artillery and mages with their magic raged against each other for ten years.”

“Did anyone win?” he asks, thinking back to the argument when the tree fell on the house.

“The war never officially ended,” you say, frowning.

“What?”

“After ten years of war, the mages were losing the war,” you say. “In their records, they found an old spell to raise an army of the undead. They were desperate enough to try it. The spell went wrong, and the undead couldn’t be controlled by the mages. Thousands turned into millions almost overnight. The original zombies raised by the mages, we call first generations. If a human gets bit, they’ll die from the infection and turn into one of them. Zombies turned from bites are called second generations. They can’t turn you, but you never know if your dealing with a gen one or gen two zombie.”

Vanilla rubs a hand down his face at the information.

“Monsters aren’t safe from gen ones, either,” you say, softly. “Zombies are attracted to magic just like they are to sound, but first generations can actually absorb it.”

Vanilla's eye lights disappear for a moment as the chill in his bones reaches his SOUL. Your face becomes serious and hardened.

“If you ever encounter a zombie that looks like it’s stomach is about to burst, **run.** Run and don’t look back,” you stare straight into Vanilla’s eye lights. “We call those bloaters. They are walking bombs of magical energy, acid, and bone shrapnel.”

“God, kid,” Vanilla says, pulling his line and setting his fishing equipment down. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“That’s the condensed version,” you say with an apologetic smile. “It’s been about forty years since the war ‘ended’ and the zombies won the surface. Humans weren’t prepared, and were already crippled from the war. Add in the zombie’s regeneration abilities, and it’s not hard to see how the surface was almost wiped out.”

“And no one ever got around to rebuilding the world,” he says with a tight grin.

“And no one got around to rebuilding the world,” you echo with a small grin.

From behind a tree, a sharp gold tooth glints before disappearing.

Fishing is continued in silence after that. The atmosphere much less tense than it was at the start. You both lounge on the riverbed with your lines until the bucket is nice and full of fish. It’s late afternoon when you both head back to the homestead. Vanilla carries the empty worm bucket and hand lines, while you carry the much heavier bucket of fish.

After several minutes, you hold your free hand out to stop Vanilla. He tenses at the abrupt stop. You put a finger to your lips and then point to clearing. Vanilla looks over, fully expecting to see at least one zombie.

He’s pleasantly surprised by the mule deer doe.

Then frowns when he realizes you’re probably going to want to shoot that with your pistol and bring it back with you.

“Gonna shoot it?” he asks, a few blue beads of sweat donning his skull. You shake your head and make no motion to grab your gun.

“Nah,” you whisper. “Just wanted you to see mama over there. See her belly? She’s thin, but she’s producing. Probably got a baby around here.”

“But...don’t we need the food?”

“Always,” you agree, watching the deer nervously flick her tail. “But we got enough fish for everyone to have two tonight and we can smoke the rest for a meal tomorrow. First rule of hunting out here, never over-hunt your food sources. A doe and her young are to be left alone in the spring. Young in general are left alone.”

The magic sweat on Vanilla’s skull fades as the two of you continue to watch the deer. After several minutes, two wobbly fawns peak their heads up and awkwardly gallop over to their mother. The doe licks her babies while her tail continues to flick.

The rest of the walk back is made in comfortable silence.


	16. Junkyard Scavenging

There’s something of a routine you have with some of the skeletons now.

Every few days, you go fishing with Vanilla to try to bond with him. You’re not sure if it’s working, but he does seem a bit more comfortable with you around now. However, it could be he’s just happy to get a break from the laundry. Scout and Happy seem pleased about this, so you’ll continue with it. Vanilla and you ask each other a few questions to get to know each other better.

You learned he’s passionate about the stars, and probably as smart as Scout. (You’re well aware your biased towards your own Sans and always will be.) He’s learned you and the boys have had to eat the questionable meat from trader’s in order to survive some winters. Vanilla was off-put by that knowledge, but is now aware you have no intention of lying to him. He seemed...oddly ok with that.

Blue and Stretch forage every couple of days, and you try to go with them when you can. Blue loves being quizzed on his new knowledge and has taken a keen interest in learning all the beneficial local flora. He vibrated in excitement when he found out different seasons have different foragables. 

Stretch has gotten really good at identifying morel and oyster mushrooms. He’s taken an interest in trying to confidently identify chanterelle mushrooms, but he’ll have to wait until early fall before he’ll get the chance to put that into practice. You’ll have to show him how to find chicken of the woods in late summer.

Gold and you work on soap and pelts when there is time. Gold seems to have taken a liking to making soap. You don’t blame him. It’s probably one of the most relaxing jobs around here. He will occasionally ask questions about the process, and you’ll work pelts near him and answer the best you can. You’ve completed one new winter blanket so far, with Gold’s help. Eleven more to go before snowfall.

The others do their own thing. Edge, Axe and Scout have worked out a guard shift routine. Edge is on duty before sun rise, Axe is on afternoon until evening, and Scout takes evening until Edge wakes up. Scout quietly worries about Axe. The hatchet wielding Sans seems to always be awake, even when he’s supposed to be resting.

Happy helps Sprout out with the more homely of the tasks. With his brother on laundry duty until further notice, Happy is either weeding Sprout’s large gardens, cleaning up the house as best as he can, or helping to prepare meals. You’ve noticed that Happy seems to be trying to go above and beyond with his helping ever since his brother attacked the two of you. It wouldn’t be a surprise to find out Happy is trying to gain favor points to keep his brother out of trouble.

It gives you mixed feelings. Happy is going to work himself sick if he keeps this up. Thankfully, Sprout seems to have also noticed and has been making sure his alternate doesn’t make himself ill.

Hunter helps out Sprout with checking the traps twice a day and patiently hunting in the woods. Hunter is excited that he found a good hunting spot with lots of cover and lots of deer trails. He’s confident he’ll be able to get a buck soon. You look forward to seeing his happy face when eventually brings home another big animal.

Rus is almost always in the garage, working on the machine. When he’s not, he’s usually by his brother’s side. Black and Razz have taken to planning traps around the homestead, specifically to fend off humans. Scout and yourself were ok with that, as long everyone knew where the traps are placed. It would be a bad time if one of the household found a trap the hard way.

Today though, you’re checking over your motorcycle. Regular maintenance is critical to keep it in good shape and running. You’ve already cleaned out the zombie gunk from your engine and checked the oil. All the parts seem to be working just fine and nothing immediately needs replacing. It’s always a good feeling to make sure your bike is in prime condition. In another life, you would have loved to work on motorcycles all day. 

Scout’s skull pops up over you, breaking you out of your daydream. 

“Everything looking good?” he asks, looking over the motorcycle. You stand up and stretch.

“As good as it can be with salvaged parts,” you say, patting it affectionately. “But she’ll keep running. She always does.”

“Mind if I ask a favor?” Scout says, squatting down, double checking the engine. 

“Need a run?” you state more than ask while wiping off the extra grease on your hands with a cloth. Scout nods and gestures over to the garage.

“Black’s driving me crazy,” he admits. His tight smile doesn’t hide his frustration. “Keeps walking in as Rus and I are trying to work on the machine, demanding we get it done faster. As if yelling is going to be the key to solving our little multiverse paradox we have going on.”

“Want to take a ride with me?” you offer. Scout grins tiredly at you. He looks better rested, but is mentally exhausted. Scout grabs your hands and gently places a flint-napped spearhead on your palms.

“As much as I would love that,” he starts with a small grin, “ _please_ get Black off this property for a few hours before I lose my shit.”

Black loosely grips your waist as the two of you drive by the destroyed “Ebott Welcomes You” sign.

“What a shithole,” he mumbles disinterestedly, looking at the decayed and broken town. Despite his tone, you feel his phalanges twitch at your waist. “Makes our surface look immaculate.”

“Take it Ebott isn’t that great in your world, either?” you ask, glancing back at Black. He scoffs.

“Insignificant bugs thought they could go to war with our queen’s royal guard when we emerged,” says Black. You feel him puff up behind you through your empty backpack. “They were lucky our queen decided to spare them on a whim and allowed a peace treaty to be signed. The war zones were being repaired when that lazy version of myself dragged myself and my brother to his world.”

“I...see…?” you say, unsure. You turn down a broken road and avoid potholes as he continues.

“Three years!” spat Black. “Three years in his so called _peaceful_ world living as ‘cousins’! Some peace it was! Humans and monsters were supposed to be equals in his world, but who was investigating the missing monsters and dust piles? Certainly not the human authorities!”

You decide to keep quiet and listen to Black rant as you make your way to the Ebott junkyard. He certainly has a lot of opinions about Vanilla’s world and the politics there. A part of you wonders if you should ask Vanilla about some of these things you’re hearing, but another part says not to poke the sleeping bear.

One thing is certain, Scout owes you big time.

Black scowls as you hush him as you park your bike near a hole in the junkyard’s wall. Opening up your motorcycle satchel, you pull out a tool belt and fasten it around your waist. You pass Black the spearhead Scout made for him.

“What is this?” he says, holding the spearhead away from him with two fingers.

“Dangerous around here,” you say, softly. “A junkyard is a great place to break stuff down for scrap metal and aluminum cans, but almost always full of zombies. If it comes down to it, I’m sure you can use your magic as a pole to attach to this spearhead.”

Black looks offended.

“Of course I can do something as simple as that!” he huffs and stashes the spearhead into his own empty backpack.

“Good, test that right now.”

“Excuse you?! You dare to question me?!”

You point to the seven zombies tumbling over trash heaps towards the two of you, clearly attracted by Black’s voice. He quickly pulls out the spearhead he just put away. He glares menacingly at you, as if it would make him look less foolish. You roll your eyes and take out your boot knife.

“Hope you’re as skilled as you say you are.”

“...I swear after I dispatch of these vermin, you’re next, human.”

Despite his tone, you don’t feel the least bit threatened. 

By the time Black has his magic form a pole for the spear, you have ran to the nearest zombie and used the momentum to decapitate it. A shirtless male zombie with half his face gone and most of his ribs visible charges you. You brace yourself and prepare to jam your knife into it’s skull. Black blurs next to you and slices the zombie’s head horizontally in half. Rotten gore splashes both of you.

“Try to keep up, human,” smirks Black, eye lights glinting in challenge. Out of the corner of your eye, you see several additional zombies staggering towards you. You reach down and click the safety off your pistol without drawing it.

“Try not to die,” you respond, evading another zombie, then jamming your knife into the base of it’s skull. Black laughs as he attacks a female zombie. Your eyebrows raise a little bit at the sound. It’s the first time you’ve heard Black actually laugh.

Keeping an eye on Black as you fight, you notice he has an almost crazed look on his face. His weapon handling is flawless, yet he chooses to make several extra punctures into his enemies. It’s almost as if he’s taking out his uselessness from the attacks on the homestead out on these junkyard zombies. You don’t complain, the zombies need to be taken down first before you guys can load up on metal, but watching him gives you an uncomfortable feeling. 

Black would have made an excellent hunter group member.

On Black’s ninth zombie, the tip of his stone spearhead broke off. On his twelfth, the spearhead completely crumbles away. The both of you still each have a zombie to take care of. You shout at Black and throw him your knife. He catches it with a scowl, but uses it to take down his last zombie. When he turns back to you, he _almost_ flinches.

You’re bashing a zombie over the head with a broken toaster you found, rancid blood and gore flying everywhere. Eventually, you stop when the zombie stops twitching. Black’s eye sockets narrows at you as he studies you. 

Tossing the dripping toaster on the ground, you carefully look around the now quiet junkyard. No sounds of movement, good. Looks like you two can finally get some real work done now. Catching Black’s gaze, you see him glaring at you. Resisting an eye roll, you walk over to the motorcycle and pull out a jar of water and two torn cloths. You pour a small amount of water on half the cloth and proceed to wipe off the rotting sludge from your face. 

Taking the hint, Black walks over and uses the other cloth to clean himself up a bit. You drop the cloth on the ground after wiping your face with the dry half. It’s likely you still have gunk on your face, but at least your mouth and eye areas should be clean enough. Grabbing the water jar, you take a long drink out of it before passing it over to Black. He looks between you and jar. You’re not looking at him, instead opting to continue to look over the area for hostiles. Black wordlessly takes the jar and finishes off the water inside. 

After the empty jar is back in the satchel, the two of you silently got to work. Empty aluminum cans are crushed and tossed into the backpacks, while heavier pieces of scrap metal and junk are loaded onto the bike’s cargo trailer. Once the bags and bike are full, the two of you head home.

You hope Scout has had enough time to cool off. Black and yourself got a good load of stuff that can be stripped for it’s components or melted down to make new parts. Scout should be pretty happy about that.

As you and Black approach the homestead, a wide grin stretches across your face.

Hunter and Sprout are butchering a bull elk as Blue and Scout are getting the smokehouse ready. 

You delightfully eye up the elk’s small, fuzzy antlers as you park near the garage. Oh, yeah! You’re making deer velvet soup tonight! That will boost everyone up and cure any fatigue the group has!

Black is slightly weirded out by your excitement at seeing the elk carcass hanging in the tree.

You’re by far the strangest human he has ever met.


	17. Scout's Foundry

Scout opens the garage doors and grins at the pile of scrap metal and junk. Plenty of crushed aluminum cans, too.

It’s a casting day. His favorite kind of day.

“Ya look too happy for a pile o’ junk,” says Rus, leaning against the door frame. Scout grins at his brother’s alternate.

“It’s about time we make you guys some worthwhile weapons, don’t you think?” says Scout, grabbing his small foundry and placing it on the broken concrete driveway. “I’m thinking a nice spear for your brother, what do you think?”

Rus doesn’t reply, instead grabbing the makeshift crucible and the few remaining aluminum ingots. Scout grins at Rus as he grabs a small fuel tank he filled earlier. Rus watches as Scout sets up the foundry and gathers several items for casting molten metal. 

The foundry itself is nothing special. A slightly rusted ten-gallon steel bucket, lined with some-sort of ceramic fiber material. On the outside of the lining are carved and chipped pieces of stone, the same kind of stone you could find in a pottery kiln. Rus wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were taken from an old kiln, actually. Holes were drilled into the sides of the bucket to fed the fuel into the bucket. The lid of the bucket is also lined with the ceramic fiber material, to keep the lid from melting. The whole foundry looks scorched and black dust is transferred to everything that touches it.

It’s crude, but Rus is slightly impressed.

After hooking it up and placing the crucible inside, Scout turns on the fuel and quickly drops in a lit piece of wood into the foundry. The inside fire whirls to life and Scout is quick to place the lid on to keep the heat inside. As it heats, Scout and Rus disappear into the garage and pull out some molds Scout has made. The sand inside four of the molds are shaped into bows, while another is a large spearhead. Several smaller molds are for machine parts. Scout also grabs several old muffin sheets to use to shape ingots. 

After fifteen minutes, the crucible is red hot. Scout begins to toss the crushed cans into the foundry. Rus watches at the cans melt like butter in the crucible. When the crucible is near full of molten aluminum, Scout uses a thick, steel tool with a long handle to scrap the oxide slag from the top of the liquid metal. He knocks the slag off the tool by hitting it into a pile onto the concrete.

Red wanders over to watch as Scout carefully opens the lid to the foundry and grabs the crucible with another set of tools. The muffin sheet catches on fire for a few moments as the aluminum is slowly poured into it. Replacing the crucible back into the foundry, Scout repeats the process of melting down cans.

“Heh,” grins Red, watching the metal working with interest. “That’s _hot_.”

Rus snickers as Scout playfully rolls his eyes at his counterpart.

“Definitely, _too hot for you to handle._ ” smirks Scout. Rus leans back, enjoying the show and banter.

“Awe, Scout,” snickers Red. “You’re making me _melt_ over here.”

“SANS!” shouts Edge from the roof top. Red sweats a little as he looks up towards his brother. “Quit that infernal punning this instant, before I pour that molten metal over your skull!”

“Sorry, boss,” grins Red. “Didn’t mean to get you all _fired_ up.”

Edge’s face is red as he screeches incomprehensibly. 

After melting down all the cans and scrap aluminum and turning them into ingots, the metal is once again added to the foundry. Now the casting can really start. Liquefying the ingots again, Scout carefully pours the aluminum into the holes of the sand molds. Smoke spews out of the holes, and once the holes in the mold all have metal peaking out, Scout heats more metal and goes to the next mold.

Scout’s pretty happy that he has just enough aluminum for the weapons. He’ll still need to melt down the rest of the metal for some parts, but the weapons are the biggest thing he wanted to accomplish today. The molds are still smoking from the hot metal.

“So,” says Red. “How long till they’re cool enough to handle?”

“Couple hours,” says Scout, heating up the foundry again. “Will probably take them out an hour or so after they stop smoking and let them finish cooling on the concrete. Gonna cast some machine parts with this remaining metal before the fuel tank runs out.”

An hour later, Rus is manning the foundry and Scout is gently popping open the last mold to let the cast aluminum slowly cool in the sun. The four bows and spearhead are incredibly shiny, despite the old metal they were cast from.

“Oh, wow!” says Blue as he bounds over, attracted by the shiny weapons. “Those look awesome!”

“They still need to finish cooling and be sanded down, but thanks,” says Scout, cleaning up the burnt sand.

“Can I have one?!” asks Blue, eye lights forming large stars.

“Excuse you!” huffs Black, walking over. “Why do you get first pick?”

“Because I asked first!”

“Well, I’m more suited for battle, so I should get to choose first!”

“That’s not true, angry edgy me!”

“M’lord,” interjects Rus, “the spearhead was made specifically for you.”

Black smirks as Blue openly pouts. Scout resists rolling his eye lights.

“Blue, once the bows are ready, you can pick one,” says Scout. Blue perks up at this. “You, Happy, Hunter and Gold will be getting bows. I’ll also be training you four on how to shoot them.”

“Muwah ha ha!” laughs Blue, stars in eyes. “I shall train to be the best archer here!” Scout snorts, softly. As if this soft, blue boy could ever outdo him in archery.

“Good luck with that,” grins Scout.

Casting for the day is done when the fuel tank runs dry. There’s still more metal to go through, but fuel needs to be conserved, too. The machine crew will just have to deal with the parts they have currently, before more can be made.

When the bows are cool enough to be touched, Scout moves the weapons into his workshop. The sun is beginning to get low and supper will be ready soon. The spearhead, being smaller and thinner than the bows, feels cool to the touch. Stretching his bones, he looks out the window at the low hanging sun. Scout decides there’s enough time to work on the spearhead.

He brushes off extra sand off the metal to start off with. Working slowly, he cuts away extra bits of metal, and drops them into a bucket to be recast into something else later. Using a bit of his magic and sandpaper, he grinds down the cut bits of metal and smooths out the piece. The blade of the spearhead is ready to be sharpened when he hears a knock on the garage door.

“Food’s ready,” you say, grinning and leaning against the wall. “Got fried venison heart, liver and kidneys tonight along with some blanched nettles. Blue found some wild garlic and we tossed that into the fry. All good stuff. Nettle tea and water, too.”

“Sounds fantastic,” he says, dusting himself off. He’ll pick up working on the weapons tomorrow. His bones are covered in soot. He’ll need to clean himself off before eating. The two of you begin to make your way to wash up before dinner.

“Sprout’s talking about giving Edge and Black a lesson in close zombie combat when Black’s spearhead is ready,” you say, stretching out your back with a yawn. Scout smiles at this.

“Good to hear,” he says, eye lights wobbling for just a second. “As much as I’m reluctant to admit this, these guys have been good for him. I’m glad to see him acting like his old self again.”

“Paps will be ok,” you say, determined. “He’s not allowed to die, period. I won’t let him.”

“Agreed,” Scout says, matching your resolve.

“Bestie! Brother!”

The two of you turn your heads to your Papyrus. He’s standing in the doorway of the house, smiling and waving his arm. You and your Sans would do anything to keep him from falling down.

“If you two slowpokes don’t hurry up, Axe is going to eat your food!”

Your face looks offended. Scout can’t hide his amusement and snickers at your face.

“IF HE DO, HE GONNA DIE!”


	18. Arming the Skeletal Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zombietale Sans = Scout  
> Zombietale Papyrus = Sprout
> 
> Undertale Sans = Vanilla  
> Undertale Papyrus = Happy
> 
> Underfell Sans = Red  
> Underfell Papyrus = Edge
> 
> Underswap Sans = Blue  
> Underswap Papyrus = Stretch
> 
> Swapfell Sans = Black  
> Swapfell Papyrus = Rus
> 
> Swapfell RED Sans = Razz  
> Swapfell RED Papyrus = Gold
> 
> Horrortale Sans = Axe  
> Horrortale Papyrus = Hunter

There’s a cool breeze today. 

A perfect day to chop wood and start filling the new woodshed. A thin line of sweat coats your face as you raise your axe and quickly swing down, cracking a log in two. You have long since shed your torso armor, maximizing the cooling effect of the wind. Wiping your face with your sleeve, you sit down on the stump your chopping wood on. Unscrewing the lid of the a water jar, you take a long drink and look around around the homestead.

It’s buzzing with activity today.

Blue, Happy, Gold and Hunter are lined up with their newly strung metal bows, listening to Scout as he gives them archery advice and pointers. You watch as he grabs his compound bow and a stone arrowhead. Using his magic to make the arrow shaft, he quickly strings and releases an arrow at a tree, pinning an unsuspecting squirrel by it’s head. Gold looks a little pale at the display, white Hunter looks thoroughly impressed. Dispelling his magic, the squirrel drops right into Scout’s waiting hand.

It’s a pretty neat display of ability, if you do say so yourself.

The rookie archers raise their bows towards the wooden targets Scout made and shoot off their magic enhanced stone arrowheads. Blue looks the most excited to do well, followed by Happy. Their arrows launch first. Hunter is trying to breathe slowly and calmly as he aims and fires. Gold’s still pale and clearly doesn’t want to be there. His arrow is the last to be shot.

Not one arrow hits the target. 

Blue and Happy’s arrows sail clear over the target, too much magic in the arrows shatter the arrowheads when they land. Hunter’s arrow shaft disappeared halfway to the target, causing the arrowhead to veer left. Gold’s arrow lands too softly in front of the target by several feet. His arrow wouldn’t have stuck into the target even if it had hit.

You giggle at Scout’s blank expression.

Clanging of metal catches your attention. Sprout is training with Edge and Black. Black’s new spearhead is shiny and sharp, with a carved oak shaft. Edge and Black appear to be double teaming Sprout, but your Paps is able to deflect every attack they send his way. Your chest swells with pride. You know it’s only sparring, but it feels good to see Sprout doing well. It gives you hope.

Sprout directs Edge and Black to spar against each other. They grumble, but follow his instruction. You can hear bits of Sprout’s instruction in the breeze, about the weak points on a zombie and the best places to attack to immobilize them. A smile pulls at your lips at Sprout’s tone and posture. He looks like he’s enjoying himself.

“Surprised to see you slacking off,” grins Red, sitting at the base of a nearby tree. His arms are crossed behind his head as he watches you take a break.

“Unsurprising to see you slacking off,” you retort, stretching and taking another quick swig from your jar. Red chuckles at your response. He watches the archer party draw back their bows and miss again.

“What can I say? I _aim_ to please.”

You snort.

“Sure, bone boy. Sure,” you say while standing up. You place your water jar in a safe location away from you before grabbing your axe again. “Why you pestering me today?”

Red smirks at you.

“Can’t a guy hangout with his best friend?”

“My best friend is currently training with your brother. Try again.”

Red places a hand over hit chest dramatically, pretending to look hurt. You roll your eyes as you split a piece of wood. Red tucks his hands behind his head, again.

“Was hoping to _axe_ you a question or two, sweetheart.”

“ _Chop_ to it, then,” you reply, setting up a log. Red chuckles, heartily. 

“What’s up with your Paps?” he asks. You feel your grip tightening on the axe as you chop your log with more force than necessary. You glance over your should at Red. His smile looks forced now.

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly, almost dangerously. Red’s skull breaks out in a sweat at the tone. He eyes you warily. 

“His SOUL is unstable,” he says. You look over at Sprout. He gestures to Black and Edge with his sword, explaining something you can’t hear. “Feels a lot like mine, more than I’d like to admit.”

This catches your attention and you turn to stare Red down. Red stares back at you, but starts to squirm after several moments. His eye lights glide to the axe your holding. You deflate with a soft sigh and set the axe down. Sitting down on the grass in front of him, you look Red over.

“Thought Vanilla would have told you,” you say after a few moments. Red’s fist clenches, he clearly doesn’t like being out of the loop. “Scout didn’t exactly hide it from him.”

“Vanilla’s not exactly forthcoming with a lot of stuff, sweetheart,” scowls Red. You tilt your head as you study him.

“You all like to beat around the bush,” you say. “Something you have in common, I guess.”

Red snorts as he leans back.

“You’re doing the same right now,” he points out. You roll your eyes, reaching for your water jar. 

“Sprout’s SOUL is badly cracked,” you say, taking a sip of water. Red straightens up a bit. “Our world’s Frisk meant a lot to him, and it hurt him when their SOUL was taken to break the barrier. Sprout never fully recovered from that. Scout and I do our best, but we’re not monster doctors.”

“Docs wouldn’t be able to help anyway,” huffs Red, closing his eyes. “The SOUL is more complicated than that. Don’t know why he would give a piece of himself to that brat.”

You feel your anger spike. Red snaps his eyes open to look at you.

“That brat,” you glare at Red, “was their kid.”

Red looked you in the eye before scoffing and looking away. You try to reign in your anger. 

“And what about you?” you say, continuing. “You say his SOUL feels like yours. What’s up with your SOUL? Got something to _get off your chest_?”

The pun doesn’t land. Red glares at you before standing up. 

“None of ya fucking business.”

You huff as Red teleports out of your sight. What a jerk!

You find it hard to stay angry, instead wondering if Red’s SOUL is in a similar state to Sprout. God, you hope not.

Dinner is a quiet affair tonight. Everyone looks particularly exhausted from training and working. You don’t look much better from chopping wood all day. Quickly chowing down your food, you head up to the roof where Scout is. He is quietly chipping away at rocks, making more arrowheads.

You lay down and stretch out your limbs as you stare into the night sky. The stars are bright tonight and the moon is over half full. A deep sigh is released from you as you relax against the old shingles. Your arm muscles are aching from exertion. 

“I might need to rethink Hunter’s weapon choice,” Scout says softly, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?” you question and look over at your shorter skeleton. He sighs, setting down his flint-napping equipment.

“His magic is finicky and doesn’t like to hold it shape,” he explains. “Think Hunter might also have some vision problems.”

That surprises you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, sitting up.

“The guy kept squinting at the target,” recalls Scout. “Think he’s nearsighted.”

That is a problem. You recall the location of the puncture wound on the bear he hunted. It was on the chest.

“You think he hunts by aiming his bones at his target’s SOUL?” you contemplate. Scout nods affirmatively.

“Most likely,” he agrees. “Hunter doesn’t strike me as a close range kind of guy, but he’ll have a hard time hitting SOULless zombies from a distance.”

“How about something more spear-like? A glaive maybe?” you mumble. Scout tilts his head side-to-side as he thinks about it.

“Longer bladed glaive, huh?” he mumbles. “Could work. Would give him more blade to work with. Not sure if he’s any bit skilled with such a weapon, though.”

“I’m sure he can learn,” you point out. “He’s trying to learn archery with two handicaps.”

“He would have more luck with a type of spear,” agrees Scout. “Doubt he’d want to use a gun.”

“Not that we have very many of those, or the ammo for them,” you add in.

“That too.”

The two of you lay back and stargaze. 

“How’s the machine coming along?” you whisper. Scout sighs quietly.

“Slowly, very slowly,” he whispers. “Not only are the right bits and pieces hard to come by, but the others have a hard time agreeing on how to make the machine. Vanilla was able to make the machine ‘work’ twice, but the others argue we can’t use that model because of the multiverse shuffling it caused.”

“Sounds complicated,” you sympathize. Scout nods as he stares at the sky.

“Ultimately, we need more data, but are unable to obtain it.”

“Because of the multiverse shuffle?”

“Because of the multiverse shuffle.”

“Sorry, I’m not much help,” you say with a weak smile. “Building a machine to another universe is a little more complicated than motorcycle engines.”

Scout laughs for the first time tonight.

“Hey, you taking Black away for a few hours the other day was a great help.”

“He attracted two dozen zombies just by talking, Sans.”

You both laugh quietly as you continue to admire the stars.


	19. First Jelly and Zucchini Season

Stretch eyes the canning jars in the windowsill as he lazes at the kitchen table. The golden contents within are mocking him.

Sure, it LOOKS like honey, but you had made it very clear a couple days ago it was not honey. You and Sprout were making dandelion jelly, and canning stinging nettles and the almost past season rhubarb. Stretch didn’t care much for the nettles or rhubarb, but enjoyed watching the process to preserve them for later. The dandelion jelly, however, really caught Stretch’s attention.

He watched as you carefully picked out the petals of the dandelions and pour boiling water over them, then left it to steep overnight. The next day you were pouring the hot petal tea into hot canning jars and setting the jars out to cool for a day or two. Stretch wished he would have come in earlier to see what you mixed in with the petal juice to get it to set.

The jars tease Stretch. The amber colored contents look just like cheap grocery store honey.

Ever since his arrival in this world, Stretch hasn’t had one drop of honey, and it’s driving him mad. He knows the others have been without their favorites as well, but a world where honey isn’t easily available is hell to the skeleton. He wishes he would have bought every last bottle Vanilla’s world had to offer.

Stretches phalanges twitch as you walk into the kitchen to check on the jars. You press on the lids of the jars, nodding to yourself as you feel the lids. There a soft click and you immediately frown, Stretch watches hopefully as you place a jelly jar off to the side and check the remaining jars.

When you turn to look at Stretch, you immediately see the family resemblance between Stretch and Blue. His eye lights look too wide, too...puppy-like for a skeleton. His eyes keep drawing to the jar of dandelion jelly you set off to the side. You have a feeling that if you wave the jar around, his eyes will follow it.

Lucky for him, an improperly sealed jar means it needs to be eaten right away.

Stretch is straight up drooling when you pop the lid off the jar. He watches your every move with an orange dusting on his cheekbones. You curiously watch him as you taste a spoonful of the jelly. His expression isn’t one you’ve seen before. He looks so oddly desperate. 

The jar may not have sealed properly, but the jelly is still good for now. You feel your shoulders relax at the sweet bite of heaven. A content hum releases from your nose. Stretch is tightly gripping the kitchen table. You decide to stop teasing him and have mercy on him.

“Want to try?” you ask, holding out the jar and spoon. Stretch shakily grabs the spoon and jelly jar. He gives it a sniff and his shoulders sag. It doesn’t smell like honey—too floral—reminding him once more it’s not his sugary sweet addiction. 

He takes a spoonful and brings it up to his mouth to taste the jelly. 

His eye lights turn to stars. Stretch proceeds to chug the entire jar in a single large gulp.

Your stare in horror when your brain finally catches up.

“What the _fuck_ , Stretch?!” you shout, snatching the empty jar out of his hands. A small drop of jelly leaks out of the corner of his jaw. Stretch stares at you, shocked at his own reaction.

“Th-that wasn’t supposed to happen!” he stumbles over his words. “I c-couldn’t control myself! It just happened! It tasted so much like honey, and I haven’t had honey in so long, and then I was finished…and then the jar was...empty…” 

You stare unimpressed at Stretch. His face is glowing orange as he looks down in embarrassment. Stretch uses a bit of magic to conjure a tongue and lick the small drop off his mouth.

“Dude, I was going to share that with everyone…”

“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to...so fast…” you hear him mumble. Man, he’s reminding you of Gold now.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. If it had been Blue, you would’ve expected something like this to happen, but it being lazy Stretch is a complete surprise. How badly does this guy crave honey?

Well, what’s done is done, no getting the jar of jelly back now. The glowing orange skeleton is lucky there’s more to go around. 

“Was it good?” you ask. Stretch looks shyly at you. You don’t appear angry anymore.

“It was very good,” he says with a small grin, face still a tad orange. 

“Good, because I’m not letting you down another jar like that again,” you say, firmly. “You’re banned from touching the remaining jars.”

“W-wait, honey! Let’s talk about this!”

“No. And don’t ‘wait, honey,’ me. I’m not changing my mind.”

“B-but—!”

“No, 'buts'! You did this yourself.”

Sprout’s excitement is off the charts today. When weeding his zucchini garden, he found several of the summer squash ready for picking! First crop of the season always fills him with joy! Foraging is nice and all, but nothing beats growing your own sustainable food.

Having a steady supply of food makes Sprout’s SOUL feel light. 

The green squashes are about average in size, only about five inches, but will make a wonderful addition to tonight’s dinner! Carefully checking the plants, he’s pleased to find enough for everyone to have their own squash! Sprout has a fondness for zucchini. They grow like weeds when they get going—as long as you don’t let them get too big—and their seeds are easy to collect, dry and store for the next year. 

He’s particularly fond of making zucchini noodles for a pasta alternative. The squashes will need to be a bit bigger before he can spiral them for noodles, but soon! He wonders what kinds of pasta his alternates like and if he can recreate them with the veggie.

Sprout sits next to his garden, hand on his jaw as he ponders dinner. The homestead still has plenty of smoked and dried venison, and now zucchini. He might need to see what is leftover from the last foraging run, but meat stuffed zucchini boats are sounding very tasty right now.

A body flopping down onto the grass next to him breaks Sprout out of his thoughts. He looks over to you, noting the grumpy look on your face. One of the alternates must have done something, again.

“Hello, best friend!” Sprout greets you, cheerfully. He gestures to his closer garden. “I’m delighted to announce that the zucchinis are now in season!”

Sprout likes how your expression melts into a happy one. Making you smile warms his SOUL in all the right ways.

“That’s great!” you say, eyes shining in delight. Sprout listens contently as you list off the ingredients available currently in the house to go with them. The zucchini boats idea sounding better by the second.

It’s been a while, but Sprout loves seeing the excitement in your face as you talk about something you enjoy. Lately, food has been the main topic of your happy chatter. No surprise, either. Sprout knows the sudden appearance of his and Sans’ alternate selves, put a major stress on you to ensure everyone would survive.

He loves how persistent you are, doing what needs to be done for the good of the group. A small part of him stings, remembering how he used to value a similar trait in Undyne. However, that piece of him is often overshadowed by the need to keep you safe.

It’s funny, wanting to protect you. You are, by no means, someone who needs protecting. Often it’s you protecting him and Sans in your own way. It’s been like this since day one.

When the barrier broke, everything fell apart. Himself included, Sprout is ashamed to admit. The trauma from loosing his first real friend, watching his fellow monsters helplessly dust in front of his eye lights from the horde attracted by the magical pulse of the barrier breaking, it was...too much. 

Only you and his brother know this, but there is a gap in his memory from the time of the horde and the time he met you. Sans must have grabbed him and escaped the mountain at some point. Next thing Sprout can remember is staring down the barrel of your rifle. Sans was out of magic power and could only watch as four gunshots pierced the air.

Four thuds echoed behind them. 

They had teleported in front of a small group of zombies. Had you not fired, they would have been dusted where they stood.

Knowing what he does now about the surface, Sprout is fully aware of the two second decision you made that moment. You could have saved the ammunition and let the zombies dusted them, but you didn’t. In a moment of confusion from seeing your first monsters, you acted to protect him and his brother. You saved them, helped them, and befriended them. 

In the five years the three of you have been together, Sprout has seen the deep cracks on his SOUL slowly fade from the healing intent of you and Sans. He can feel how much the two of you care, and he’s so grateful for it. His brother always cared, but to be cared for by someone with no family bonds...it’s wonderful.

It makes him not want to lose you to the alternates.


	20. Hunter vs The Hunted

A warm, southwestern breeze carries just a hint of the ocean.

Summer has arrived. 

The sun is just peaking over the horizon. You slowly shape an oak branch into a staff while sitting on the roof, watching the rising sun. Edge is doing his best to ignore your existence, but he does pause to look you over from time to time. 

You’ve learned that Edge is an action over words kind of guy. His words are harsh and usually a facade to keep people at a distance, but his actions are helpful and are done with care. He’ll raise a fuss when asked to do something, but will do the task with such diligence and effort. When he’s not needing to talk is when Edge is true with himself.

It’s something you can relate to. You’re often blunt to the point of being harsh, but it’s something you’ve been actively working on for a couple years now. However, it’s hard to change a lifetime’s worth of habits.

Wood chips fall from the roof as you brush off your lap. The staff feels pretty smooth in your hands. It’s a little longer than what you would be able to efficiently use, but should be about the right length for Hunter. You hope, anyways. That skeleton is the largest member of this homestead.

Edge’s snort catches your attention.

Following his gaze, you see Hunter practicing his archery. His magic flickers and his arrow misses the target. Undeterred, he aims a new arrow and fires it with the same results. You and Edge watch Hunter practice for a couple painful minutes. 

“What are you doing, human?” snaps Edge as you place the staff next to him. It’s a good foot taller than him.

“Measuring,” you reply, eyes darting between the pole, the top of Edge’s head, and Hunter in the background. Edge’s eye lights follow your eye movements and flicker as he catches on to what you’re doing.

“A pole is hardly an efficient weapon choice,” scoffs Edge, crossing his arms. “Even with that lumbering me’s strength. It lacks the finesse needed to be able to incapacitate our enemies.”

“It’s just the handle so far,” you say. Edge frowns as he waits for you to continue. “Hunter, despite his efforts, isn’t making much advancement in magic infused archery. Scout and I were thinking maybe a longer bladed spear might be better. You were a captain of the guard right? Do you think spear would work, or maybe a different weapon?”

Edge blinks as he realizes you just acknowledged his position and were genuine in your inquiry.

He will deny any red glowing on his face as he loudly voices his thoughts about Hunter’s abilities and potential weapon handling.

It’s a good half-hour of Edge boasting when a simple “yes” would have sufficed. 

After breakfast, you watch as Hunter returns to his previous spot and continues to practice shooting arrows. You’ll admit, you admire his commitment to learning. Unfortunately, dedication alone is not going to make someone skilled in a short amount of time. If he would like to continue practicing as a secondary skill, that’s completely fine, but this archery is not a good fit for Hunter.

Walking over to a cleaning closet, you look at the old mops and brooms. Grabbing an old mop, you twist off the chipped wood handle. This should work. You walk outside with the mop handle in one hand, and the oak staff in the other. 

Hunter snaps his head over in surprise as the oak staff is thrown on the ground in front of him.

“Thought we wouldn’t notice?” you ask, gesturing to your eyes. Hunter figits with his gloves, sadly.

“I didn’t mean to hide it, friend,” he says, softly. “It’s...difficult to admit to weaknesses...Being strong is what keeps you alive.”

“I get it,” you say. “It’s why we’re not going to let you be weak.”

Hunter tilts his head to the side as he studies you.

“Archery was a bad match for you,” you admit. You point the end of the mop handle to Hunter. “Pick up the staff. I’m going to see if a mid-range weapon would be better for you.”

Hunter freezes and drops his bow. 

“I-I don’t want to fight you!” he shouts. This catches some attention from some of the nearby skeletons.

“Not fighting,” you say, calmly. “I want to spare with you to get a better idea of your abilities.”

“N-no!” resists Hunter, nervously. “Th-that’s a really bad idea!”

A tight weight grips your chest. You feel like you’re being hunted. A single blood red eye is watching you from the roof.

“Why?” you ask, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. Hunter is wringing his hands anxiously.

“I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbles softly. “My magic reacts on it’s own when I fight. I could…” His tiny eye lights wobble as the corners of his sockets fill with magical tears. “I could kill you…”

“That sounds like a me problem,” you say, without concern. Hunter jerks his head towards you. You grin, almost ferally. “I’m not that easy to kill. I trust you. Do you trust me?” 

After a few moments of hesitation, Hunter slowly picks up the staff from the ground. He stills as he holds the piece of oak. Hunter can feel your intentions in the wood. You want him to be safe. His eye sockets prick with tears again as he grips his weapon tighter.

“Remember,” you say, calmly. “This is a training session. I just want to see what you can do. Humans are fleshy, but we’re not harmed by intent alone. If you want to put forth your best effort, it’s up to me and my own abilities to counter it.”

“O-ok,” he agrees. 

Hunter looks uncomfortable. The others have formed a wide circle to watch. Some are excited, some are nervous, some look unfazed, but there is at least one who’s killer intent is so strong, you can actually feel it. Axe is warning you, and you know it. If you land one hit on his brother, he will kill you himself. Understandable, you would feel the same way if someone hurt your boys. 

Staff on staff contact it is. Not like you are actually hoping to harm Hunter.

“H-here I come,” he says, steeling himself. Your eyebrows shoot up as you parry Hunter’s strike. The mop handle vibrates violently in your hands. He’s fast, he’s strong, and he’s clearly holding back.

A quick mental note to never make Hunter your enemy.

“Good,” you praise. Hunter’s face glows faintly. “With your strength, you could probably have a club of some-sort and be safe, but I want to see what else you can do. My turn.”

You thrust forward, aiming for his face. He blocks, but the end of the pole got uncomfortably close to his head. The tightening in your chest increases. It’s getting uncomfortable to breath. 

Calm, slow breaths. Calm, slow breaths.

“Fantastic,” you say, trying not to wheeze. Why are you putting up with this bullshit again? Oh, yeah. You want Hunter to be able to defend himself against zombies. A part of you doubts Axe is doing this on purpose. He’s not using magic, either. Addressing this right now feels like it would cause more problems. Damn it. You overestimated Axe’s stability. 

“There are three main places to incapacitate a zombie,” you say, blocking Hunter’s next strike. “Most effective is the head, followed by removing one or both legs, then trying to hit the center of the heart. Everywhere else is a waste of energy. I will always recommend aiming for the head. It’s the easiest and most effective. Legs are for when you need to run away, and the heart is for showoffs with deadly accuracy.”

Hunter’s attacks are beginning to make your palms hurt. He’s listening as he’s now only aiming for your head, chest and legs. You manage to block and parry all his attacks. The mop handle might not hold out if this keeps up. His attacks speed up as Blue and Happy cheer him on. You hear Sprout cheer for you. It’s beginning to get loud.

You switch up your stance and counter Hunter’s strike. 

The world is stripped of color as Hunter’s magic reacts. Your chest feels lighter as your SOUL reveals itself from your chest, Hunter’s SOUL doing the same. Hunter has started an encounter, and by the look of horror on his face, he didn’t mean to.

Several options appear in front of you. To your surprise, Mercy is blacked out on both your side and Hunter’s side. You can hear the muffled panicked voices from the others, but cannot see them. Unless they choose to join the encounter, they will be faded out. They can see you, but you two can’t see them.

“I-I am so sorry!” panics Hunter, desperately trying to get his Mercy button to work. Your hand falls ineffectively through your own Mercy option. It was worth a try.

You move first.

“Hey, hey,” you say, comfortably. You notice the Act button activates without needing to be touched. “Take a deep breath and calm down. We’ll work through this. I’m ok, you’re ok.”

Hunter takes a deep, shaky breath. He still looks freaked out, but appears to be thinking now.

“I’ve never had my Mercy button be unavailable before,” he says, crushed. “I don’t want to hurt you, so I don’t know why it’s not working!”

“Easy, big guy,” you say, pointing down to your own Mercy option. “I’m in the same boat.”

“That’s even worse!”

“We’ll figure it out,” you say, firmly. “Tell me more about encounters and how they work. I only know that it’s how monsters fight.”

“Actually,” starts Hunter, “there’s a couple different reasons why monsters would start an encounter. Fighting, yes, but also to better understand each other. There’s some less common uses, but those are the main two.”

You tilt your head from side to side as you try to make sense of this. 

“Ok, so if you’re certain you don’t want to fight,” you start, slowly. “Then you’re SOUL is looking for an answer or understanding of some sort?”

“M-maybe?” he replies looking tired. His nerves are catching up with him. “This has never happened before.”

“Alright,” you say, shrugging. “Ask me anything, I guess? I’m not going to fight you.” You see Hunter’s Act button light up.

_Papyrus ( ~~Crooks~~ Hunter) is checking you._

You can see a box with your full name followed by “Biker” on top of it. Oh, neat. You can see what he sees. That’s unusal, though. Hunter was probably right in this being less of a fight encounter and more of a get to know you, kind of deal.

_LV: 6, HP: 35/40  
20 [+5] ATK, 11 [+200] DEF  
Equipment: Mop Handle [+ATK], Patchwork Leather Armor [+DEF]  
*She only wants to help you_

Well, you doubt that’s what he’s looking for. 

“Wowie,” you hear Hunter mumble as he carefully reads your stats. You wonder if your base stats are high or low for a human. The modifier from your armor makes your SOUL shine a little brighter with pride. It was made with your own two hands. A part of you wonders what the modifier would be if you swap out for your pistol. You decide against it.

It’s your turn and you decide to CHECK him as well.

_Papyrus ( ~~Crooks~~ Hunter)  
LV: 6, HP: 750/750  
50 [+8] ATK, 20 DEF  
Equipment: Oak Staff [+ATK]  
*He’s embarrassed..._

You didn’t need an encounter to know Hunter’s feeling embarrassed. You are, however, surprised to see his name. When someone accepts a name does it get written to their SOUL? It fills you with curiosity. A conversation for Scout later. Not having any better ideas, the two of you CHECK each other a couple of times. 

_*She’s not sure what’s going on, but will roll with it_

_*He doesn’t want to hurt you_

_*She wonders what her pistol stat modifier is_

_*He’s not sure what he’s looking for_

_*Maybe she should collect some rose petals on her next foraging run_

_*Wonders what’s for lunch_

_*Hopes you’re not mad with her for trying to help_

_*Is unable to be mad at you_

_*She’s not sure what’s going on, but will roll with it_

When the boxes start to repeat, Hunter stops checking. He feels like he knows you a little bit better now. To his relief, his Mercy box is highlighted again. When his turn comes around, he spares you. The world comes back to color as the encounter ends. 

You expect to have your chest tighten, but it doesn’t. Looking up at the roof, you see Axe napping while on watch. Like hell he’s actually asleep. You set down your weapon, signaling the end of the match. Hunter happily follows suit.

“Well, that was a fucking ride,” says Red, walking up to you and Hunter. Vanilla, to your surprise, also lazily walks up to you two. You realize they could see everything that was displayed in the encounter. 

“Glad to see you settled it peacefully,” he says, a small blue sweat on his skull. “Quite a bit of LoVe you got there, bud.”

“Nothing unusual for this world,” yawns Scout, moseying over. “Pretty average, really.”

Vanilla, Stretch and their brothers look uncomfortable with that information. They don’t comment on it, though. After all, Hunter has the same amount of LoVe.

“That was a sloppy display!” scolds Black as he stomps up to the group.

“Agreed!” scowls Edge. Razz mirrors his displeasure.

You watch as the three surround and hound Hunter, demanding he joins their training sessions. A small grin twitches onto your face at Hunter’s expression. He’s elated to be included.


	21. Summer is Berry Fruitful

With the arrival of summer comes a new season of foraging. As promised, you gather Blue and Stretch, some supplies, and head south from the homestead for a foraging run. 

“Human! Don’t we normally go north to forage?” inquires Blue while adjusting his bow on his back. Blue keeps his bow on him when leaving the homestead now. A good habit to have. You hope he’ll snipe a critter for lunch today.

“The forest to the south is just as good of a place,” you say. “It has a slightly different variety of food that comes out around this time. Besides, over foraging of an area is bad too.”

Blue brightens at the explanation while Stretch nods to himself.

To get to the southern forest, your group must first walk through a large, overgrown field. You point out a few good plants, but do not pick them yet. To keep maximum freshness, you inform Blue that you’ll pick these on your way back home. Blue stares down the plants with determination, intending to memorize them for the return trip.

“That’s adorable,” you mumble, watching Blue study the plants with starry eyes. Stretch grins and hums in agreement.

Continuing the trek, Stretch spies a broken sign hiding on the edge of the forest. He can make out “Ebott National Forest” in cracked and faded paint. Blinking, he takes in the wild looking forest. Stretch has been here before in Vanilla’s world, lazily walking the trails. Any trails that existed have grown over from years of neglect. 

The once calming forest looks menacing now. 

“Wowie!” exclaims Blue, looking at many red berries. “Are these raspberries?!”

“Close,” you grin, plucking a light red berry and tossing it into your mouth. “These are salmonberries. First berries of the season.”

Blue picks a berry and tastes it. His eyes sockets clench shut for a second, before opening with large stars.

“They’re tart! But also sweet!” he says. Stretch tries a berry and looks very pleased at the taste. You grin at the boys’ reaction. Berry season is always a good time of year. With some luck, a few thimbleberries will also be ripe, but it might be a bit too soon for them. You place a basket on the ground near the berries.

“Load it up,” you say. “We’re taking as many of these ripe berries home as we can.”

Blue energetically picks as many red berries as he can. You point out that orange colored salmonberries are also good and to take those, too. For every berry Stretch places in the basket, he eats one. Since the berries are plentiful, you let him get away with it. Berry picking always requires a few nibbles here and there.

The basket is completely full of the berries after an hour or so. It’s surprisingly heavy. When Stretch offers to hold the basket, you quickly dismiss it and carry the basket yourself. After the ordeal with the jelly, you’re not going to let him devour any other sweet foods like that again. Stretch has a victorious grin on his face, it makes you feel like you lost some kind of contest.

At least the berries are safe with you.

Navigating the forest, you spy another flash of red, but on the ground. A wide grin pulls at your lips as you crouch down to the forest floor. You found a wild strawberry plant. A single, small red strawberry is attached to the plant. It appears to only have the one. Gently picking the berry, you mush it between your fingers and bury the seeds around the solitary plant. Hopefully, there will be more plants next year now.

“Whatcha find?” asks Stretch peaking over your shoulder. You point out the wild strawberry plant. He nods in understanding. “Mind if I steal ya for a minute, hon? I found a mushroom and wanted your input on it.”

Standing up you, follow Stretch a few meters further into the woods. He stops near a dead oak tree and points at an orange mushroom at the base of the tree. You recognize the mushroom.

“At first I thought it might’ve been an early season chanterelle,” starts Stretch, pulling your foraging book out of his hoodie pocket. “But according to this book, those do not grow on dead wood. I remember you mentioning something about a chicken mushroom and thought maybe this was it? The page on that mushroom is pretty beat up.”

Stretch figures it’s not the right mushroom when you pick up a stick and reveal the underside of the mushroom.

“See these gills?” you say, pointing out the gill structure on the underside of the mushroom. “Chicken of the woods don’t have that. They’re more porous. You found the toxic look-a-like to both the chanterelle and the chicken of the woods.”

You pass the stick to Stretch so he can poke the mushroom and get a better look at it. Standing up, you look around to find Blue. He’s over by a wild rose bush, sniffing the flowers. A thought crosses your mind as you reach down and grab your book from Stretch. He looks up at you as you flip through a few pages. Quickly refreshing your memory on wild roses, you tap the spine of the book against your head as you think.

“Get _hit_ with an idea?” asks Stretch, plucking the book out of your hand. 

“Maybe,” you say, walking over to Blue. “No idea if it will work though. Never made this kind of medicine before.”

Stretch raises a brow bone at you, watching you near his brother. He causally strolls up to join you two. Blue smiles at you and you nod back at him, taking out an empty jar from your bag. You being to pick a couple of the vivid pink petals from several of the roses and toss them into the jar.

“Human!” says Blue in surprise. “I thought we were supposed to wait until the roses have become rose hips and harvest them later?!” 

“I did say that,” you agree, carefully picking another petal. “But these can be used medicinally, too. I don’t usually harvest them, as I find other plants to work better...but...I might be able to use these to help Vanilla.” You hear the sound of pages turning behind you.

“You’re thinking of making some kind of antidepressant tea?” ask Stretch, reading the uses for wild rose. Pain...sedative...anti-depressant...anti-inflammatory...vitamin rich...helps lymph nodes drain...aphrodisiac. Stretch snorts at that last use.

“Small chance it will work on monsters,” you admit. “But should be safe anyway. Ideally, it will help him relax.”

“I think it’s a great idea!” declares Blue. He twiddles his hands. “Vanilla’s always been stressed since we’ve known him, but it’s gotten considerably worse since arriving in this world.”

“So I’m told,” you say, picking a few more petals. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to try. There, that should do it.” You screw on a lid and pack the jar back into your bag.

The three of you being to make your way out of the forest and back to the field. You spy something off to the side and start to walk towards it. Blue and Stretch follow you, watching as you take out your knife and being cutting stalks of some sort of long, skinny plant. Blue’s eye lights glow in recognition.

“I know that plant!” Blue says, bouncing. “Japanese Knotweed! It used to grow all around Vanilla and Happy’s house in his world! Used to drive Black and Razz crazy, since it was so hard to kill and would spread like wildfire! Are you getting rid of it so it doesn’t take over the field?”

“Gonna eat it,” you reply, cutting all the young shoots you can find.

“MMMPH?!” Stretch places a hand over Blue’s mouth to stop him from shouting. He pulls his brother’s hand away from his face. “This stuff is edible?!”

“Best when young,” you say in agreement. “Taste varies between a tart apple and rhubarb. Just need to peel it. You’re right about it being hard to kill, though. It’s why I have no issue with taking so much of it.” You pack a second basket full of the knotweed. Blue carries it for you.

Stretch can’t wait to see Black and Razz’s reaction to the invasive weed. Their reactions are going to be hilarious and loud. 

You spend the next hour showing Blue the various beneficial flowers of the field. You harvest some borage, oxeye daisies and yarrow to be dried for medicine. You also find several patches of fireweed and yellow flowering field mustard. Stretch laughs as you harvest a large chunk of the wild mustard. You’re not sure what’s so funny about the plant. Next to one of the wild mustard plants, you find some white goosefoot, too.

There some wild carrot plants in this field. You pull up several of those. Pulling the brothers aside, you spend the next few minutes carefully explaining that wild carrot and yarrow look similar to poison hemlock. You point of one of the key differences between wild carrot and hemlock is the wild carrot is ‘hairy’ above ground.

“It’s also called Queen Anne’s Lace. Easy way to remember is _‘the Queen has hairy legs.’_ ”

Stretch falls to the ground laughing, while Blue is looking away, trying not to laugh. Oh, yeah. The queen of monsters was a furry goat monster, wasn’t she? Should be a lot easier for them to remember then. 

Baskets full, the three of you head back home. Blue makes idle chatter about some sort of musician from his world. Several meters of walking later, growling catches your attention. Female zombie, twenty-five feet away, staggering her way to your group. Blue has set down his basket. He grabs his bow and notches back an arrow.

The arrowhead lodges in the zombies shoulder. She’s hobbling faster now.

Blue quickly pulls out another arrowhead from his pocket, dropping two in the processes. You realize Blue has never actually killed a zombie yet. Gripping his shoulder, you tell him to relax and clear his head. To focus on being the protector of the group. His brother is weaponless and is depending on him. Focus only on the task at hand.

Blue’s bones start to rattle softly. You begin to think you’re lousy at encouraging others. 

Zombie is ten feet away now. Taking a slow breath, Blue’s eyes glow softly with magic. His arrow shaft appears, seconds before he releases an arrow. This time, the zombie falls, arrow sticking out of it’s eye. Blue pales, and looks away. Stretch puts a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, while giving you a cold look. You tilt your head to the side, meeting Stretch’s eye lights, not understanding why he’s upset with you. As far as you’re concerned, you’ve done nothing wrong.

His brother’s training paid off, so why is he looking at you like you’re the bad guy? 

Blue does eventually shake it off, and is back to talking your ear off about his world. Stretch has his hands in his pockets and is keeping a close eye on his brother. He looks away every time his eyes meet yours. 

“You ok?” you finally ask him, tired of his behavior. Blue looks back in concern at his brother. Stretch’s face is neutral and aloof. 

“I’m fine, kid,” he says. You’re put off. He doesn’t normally call you kid. Stretch doesn’t appear to want to talk about it, either.

Fine then. His choice if he wants to keep his problems bottled up. 

Stretch disappears into the garage when you return home. The change in atmosphere is dramatic. Blue’s energy depletes and his shoulders sag, as if he had been carrying a heavy load. He follows you to rinse off the berries, flowers and plants.

“Please do not take my brother’s actions to heart,” says a tired looking Blue, cleaning off the knotweed. This is not the same energized Blue you’ve come to know. “He’s been overly protective of me since we were babybones. He’s made it very difficult for us to make and keep friends.”

You suppose you could relate to Stretch. How many times have you snapped at someone who you felt were endangering your Sans and Papyrus? It’s getting to be a pretty high number as of late.

“Hey, Blue,” you say. He looks up at you. It weirds you out, not seeing stars in his eyes. “Wanna help Sprout and I with dinner tonight?”

His stars and energy return. Ah, there’s the Blue you know.


	22. Learning Some New Things

You learn something new today, while watching Red devour his lunch salad.

The guy _really_ likes the taste of wild mustard.

Edge is shouting at this brother about his sudden detestable table manners. Sprout looks pleased that the food is going over well, while Scout is staring at his alternate with a stunned expression. This is the first time anyone has seen someone so violently enjoy a salad before. It’s like he’s been starved, when you know damn well he hasn’t been.

It reminds you of Stretch chugging the dandelion jelly.

Do these guys go almost feral for certain foods? Do they all have a food that makes them go this wild? Sprout is a big fan of zucchini, and Scout loves preserved whole tomatoes when you can get your hands on a jar of them, but this...this is crazy. 

When Red’s bowl is empty, his face glows a dark crimson as he comes back to his senses. He quickly disappears from the kitchen. Edge howls after his brother, demanding he clean up his mess.

Black and Razz are not much better with the roasted Japanese Knotweed shoots. Glaring at the shoots, they stab them with more force than necessary, then chomp it with their canine teeth. Considering the proper way these two prefer to eat, this is highly...disturbing.

The rest of you quietly finish your meal, still processing the show you witnessed. You and Happy wash the lunch dishes afterwards. He washes while you rinse, dry, and put away. 

“Mind if I steal you today?” you ask the skeleton next to you.

“I do not condone stealing of anything,” starts Happy with a frown, but quickly turning it into a smile. He’s almost vibrating in excitement. “But if you wish to hang out with the great me, I would be happy to oblige!” 

“I want to try and make something for your brother,” you say. Happy’s grin mellows out, but he listens. “I was thinking about what Scout once told me about medicine for monsters, and I was hoping to make something to help him relax at night. I’m hoping it will take the edge off his episodes, but at least it should help him sleep at night.”

Happy pauses in thought, staring up at the ceiling. He’s quiet for a few seconds as he gives your idea some serious thought. A sunny look crosses over his face as he looks at you.

“I approve!” he declares. “What did you have in mind?”

When the last dish is dried and put away, you lead Happy to your shed. You pull out the jar of pink wild rose petals, daisy flowers, borage flowers and a small head of yarrow flowers. Happy reads about the flowers in your foraging book as you explain the benefits of each component and the goal of a good medicinal tea. 

“Ideally,” you continue, “with you putting healing and calming intent into the tea, it will give the medicine the best shot at actually working for him. I can’t guarantee my focus on intention won’t slip with everything that has happened between him and I, but I’m confident yours won’t.”

“Thank you,” whispers Happy after a moment of silence. You tilt your head at him in confusion. “Thank you for actively trying to help my brother. My brother is...in a difficult state of mind right now. He thinks I don’t notice what’s been happening with him—I do—but I know it would destroy him if I told him. Thank you for not giving up on him yet.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you advise with a grin. “We still have to make the tea.” 

“Nyeh heh heh!” laughs Happy with a bright disposition. You decide it’s the best look for him.

The tea making process isn’t difficult at all and, in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t need another set of hands to help. However, this is monster medicine making. A monster to help fill it with magic and intention is a necessary step. Plus, if this works, Happy will want to know how to make this when they return to their world.

You do minimal work on the tea—only boiling a pot of water—instead having Happy do it to maximize the magic and intention added. You keep an eye on the surrounding area, in case any undead are attracted. Happy plucks all the remaining flower petals and adds them slowly to the jar of rose petals. Grabbing the pot of boiling water, he carefully pours the hot liquid over the petals to steep. Delightfully fragrant steam rises out of the jar.

Mindful not to burn yourself, you place the jar in direct sunlight to slowly cool. Happy loosely places the lid on the jar. He looks tired, but more hopeful than you’ve seen him look in weeks. You playfully shove your shoulder in his side to get his attention.

“You know,” you start with a slight smirk. “If this works, he’ll be free of laundry duty.”

Happy dramatically places the back of his hand against the side of his skull.

“Just when that lazybones was finally making up for all those times he left his socks laying around, too!”

You snicker as Happy breaks into a laughing fit.

“Having a good time without me, bro?” says Vanilla as he appear behind you two. He winks one of his eye sockets. “Sounds like you guys are having a _skele_ -ton of fun over here.”

Happy’s eye lights pop out of his sockets as he holds in a screech. Your shoulders shake while trying to hold in your laughter at the sight. Calming himself, Happy drags his brother over to the jar of tea and begins explaining the tea and how, “you WILL take this every night, Sans!”

Vanilla looks over at you, a suspicious glint in his eye lights. You lazily hold up your heavily worn book.

“He did all the tea making and read over the same stuff I did,” you say, shrugging and still holding up the book. “I only did the ingredient collecting. Take a cup of it every night, will ya? Should help you get a good night’s sleep, if nothing else. I’ll even take the first swig if you don’t trust me.”

The second he looks back to his brother, Vanilla knew he didn’t have a choice in this.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you know how I feel to- _yarrow_ , doc,” he says with an exaggerated wink. Happy stomps away with his hands in the air. Vanilla tightens the lid on the tea jar and brings it with him, while following his brother with more puns.

Tidying your workstation, you swap gears and continue to work on another winter fur blanket. You have finished two blankets now, and just started working on a third. Pulling out a smooth, long needle made of bone, you carefully thread the needle eye with a thin strip of leather. It takes more time, work, resources, and a higher chance of stabbing yourself, but you find stitching pelts this way makes warmer, longer lasting blankets. 

A warm breeze feels nice against your skin. You work quietly, listening to the noise around you. A whistle in the air catches your attention as Black’s spear cuts through the air and impales an approaching zombie in the head. It’s body falls with an echoing thump. You’re slightly impressed by the good throw from the roof, not that you would tell Black. That one doesn't need anymore boosting to his ego.

It’s nice having more people for guard duty. Warmer weather causes zombies to move and be more active in their endless hunger. The burn pit has been lit every night since summer started. Soon, the ashes will need to be emptied so the light from the pit isn’t spotted by traveling humans.

Another, closer thump catches your attention. You raise an eyebrow as Red relaxes under the nearest tree. You feel a sense of déjà vu. Ignoring him, you continue to work on the blanket.

“Not going to ask why I’m here today?” smirks Red, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Nah,” you drawl, focusing on the pelts in your hands. “You’ll talk if you want to.”

If you would have looked up, you would see Red pouting.

“Yer no fun, doll,” he whines. Your lips twitch.

“What can I say? I aim to please,” you snark. Red blinks as he recognizes his own words before laughing.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, still laughing. You finally look up at Red. He seems to actually be enjoying himself. You wonder…

“Fuck you,” you say with no heat, and a small smirk. Red’s smirk widens as he regards you. Now you see the family resemblance with Edge. These two are really bad at words. You’re willing to bet Red is an action over words guy, too. You think you’re starting to understand these skeletons now.

“If you insist, sweetheart,” purrs Red, smirking. He winks at you. “I’m game.”

You short circuit.

Wait...is that even...you’ve never considered…

Scout walks by, moving an armful of scrap metal to the garage.

“Hey, Scout!” you shout. Red’s confidence melts into panic as he breaks out in a sweat.

“Yeah?” Scout calls back. Red prays you don’t do what he thinks you’re going to do.

“Is sex even possible between a human and a skeleton?”

Metal crashes against the concrete.

Red feels like digging himself a hole and burying himself.

Scout is suddenly in front of you two, one eye glowing purple.

“Who talked to you?” he says, voice in a low, dangerous tone. 

In that moment, Red knows he is going to die.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, waving a hand. Red couldn’t believe his ear holes. He is saved. “Is it? I mean, it’s not something I really thought about? We’re fleshy, you’re bone? Could that even work? Skeletons don’t exactly have the same reproductive bits?”

Scout’s magic calms down as he face palms. His cheeks flaming in purple magic. Red laughs at his counterpart.

“You mean you didn’t tell her?” laughs Red, tears forming in his sockets. “You’ve lived together for how many years and not once it got brought up? You’re fucking kidding me!”

Scout takes a long, calming breath. The purple on his face fades as he sits down across from you. Well, Red is right. This conversation is long overdue.

“No,” says Scout. “It never did, but I suppose I should clarify that.”

Red stops laughing as his face lights up with crimson.

“Wait!” snaps Red, “I didn’t mean right now!”

“Too bad,” says Scout. Red’s face glows brighter as Scout explains monster sexuality. The edgy monster too mortified to actually shortcut himself out of there.

“So in regards to humans,” says Scout, a light blush on his face. “You’re right, we don’t anatomically have the same equipment. We are just bone. However, the more magically adept of us can create parts out of magic, but it’s more for showing off and for our partners.”

“Showing off?” you question. “Like birds?”

Red REALLY doesn’t want to be here. It was bad enough he had to give this talk to his little brother. He didn’t need to hear it again.

“Not too far off,” says Scout. “In theory, monsters with the best control over their magic are the more desirable mates. Boss class monsters like Paps and I are naturally more magically adept than other monsters. Monsters come in many different forms. Being able to show off magical ability specifically geared towards our partner’s physiology is a show to say, ‘I’m the best for you.’”

You’re reminded of Stretch when he had the jelly.

“Like making a tongue when you don’t have one?” you inquire, thoughtfully. Red chokes as he sits up. Scout looks like he’s trying to hold himself together. 

“Yes,” he says, slowly. Scout rubs his sockets. “Someone who could make a tongue would be considered a better potential mate than one who couldn’t.”

“Weird concept,” you say, absorbing the information. 

“Children, of course,” continues Scout, “Can’t be made this way. No matter the partner. There’s no real material to transfer. It would require a SOUL bonding experience.”

“And mating season,” winks Red, still sweating. Red pales at Scout’s unbothered answer. “Wait, you HAVE had a mating season...right?”

“My bro and I haven’t had one since coming to the surface,” shrugs Scout. “It’s supposed to be every autumn. The whole, needing to survive thing kinda takes that out of you.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “I get that. No one really wants to partake in an activity that brings a child into the world. Especially if you don’t have the resources to provide for them.”

Scout, feeling done with the talk, goes to back to get his dropped metal. You continue on your blanket. Red’s sweating increases by the minute. Did you two seriously not see the problem here? Red shortcuts to Scout’s side.

“Something to say?” says Scout, picking up the metal scrap.

“Don’t fucking play games,” scowls Red. Scout looks unimpressed at his alternate. Red looks genuinely angry. 

“This fall could be an absolute shit show and you know it!” snaps Red. “I know at least two of the others will probably go into heat this fall. Lets not forget you and your bro might too, especially since there’s other boss monsters around and **one** female. Pretty sure I also heard your bro praise that this place has never been safer.”

“I’m not worried,” shrugs Scout. Red looks ready to loose his mind.

“Are you fucking serious?!” 

“Two reasons,” Scout says, grabbing the last few pieces of metal. “She’ll kill you if you do anything to her she doesn’t want.” Red mentally agrees with that statement.

“And the other reason?” huffs Red, arms crossing.

Scout smirks at Red, licking his teeth with a purple tongue before walking back to the garage.

Red could feel the challenge in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thanks for sticking with me so far with my story! It pleases me greatly how many of you are enjoying the story.
> 
> I do have a few little notes.  
> First of all, I will be having gallbladder removal surgery early in October, and my dad will also be having major heart surgery the same day as my surgery. (Yay, surgery buddies?) We're hoping everything will go fine and we can finally be pain-free and back to living our lives to the fullest. 
> 
> I'm doing my best to try to write ahead so I can keep up with the pace of chapters I've been pumping out even when I'm going to be healing up. That being said, I've also got to work ahead at my full-time job and not go insane. Please forgive me if the rate of chapters decrease over this period, but I am not giving up on this story. I have too many plans for our survival crew. :) I have the entirety of this story sketched out in my notebook, will just need the time to write it!
> 
> Thanks, everyone!


	23. Plus One at the Trader

The best feeling in the world is washing your hair. Calloused fingers rubbing the soap into your scalp, freeing it of the stubborn dirt and oil that refuses to budge. It’s a wonderful experience that makes your head feel lighter and not itchy. There’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with turning the water murky after rising the soap from your hair. 

You wonder if the humans from the other boys’ worlds get to wash their hair everyday? Do their soaps smell like flowers instead of grease and ash? It’s sounds like a life of luxury. 

As you bathe, Scout stays nearby to keep wandering skeletons away. He’s politely turned away from you. He knows you don’t care if people look at you naked, but after Red and Edge’s reactions, he finds it a good idea to keep those sorts away from your cleaning time. Scout finds himself curious if Rus would react similar to Red, but finds himself not actually wanting to know the answer.

It’s breezy and sunny today. You had washed your complete outfit and hung it out to dry on a tree before taking your time cleaning yourself. Scout flips the garments and armor over to promote even drying time. He also may or may not have used a bit of magic to speed up the drying time. 

Plopping himself at the base of the tree, Scout closes his sockets, basking in the warm sun on his face. The breeze blows through the patches in his tattered blue hooded sweater. His teeth are set into an easy grin. When’s the last time he could actually relax like this? Knowing that someone’s watching out for zombies, someone’s taking care of firewood, someone’s taking care of the daily food supply, and none of those people being you or Paps? That you’re both safe right now? He could just...

Dried off, you walk over to your Sans. You chuckle, realizing he fell asleep. Reaching up, you grab your clothes and put them on after realizing they are dry. Your chest piece is still damp, but you don’t plan on wearing it anyways. Today’s a trader run day, after all.

You detangle your hair with your bone hair pick. Satisfied with your state of cleanliness, you go back to the house to put your pick away. Black stops you.

“You will be taking my brother with you today.” states Black. You don’t even consider the request.

“Absolutely not,” you counter, stepping around Black to your room. 

“You WILL take him,” scowls Black, straightening up to his full height and fixing you with a glare. Is he trying to intimidate you? It’s not working if he is. “I will not accept not being able to hunt you down if you decide not to come home one of these days.”

You pause and blink, processing his words. He’s worried you won’t come home? That they won’t be able to find you? That’s...oddly considerate? No, that can’t be right, this is Black you’re talking about. It probably has something more to do with needing control.

“Fine,” you sigh. You suppose you could afford to lose this one. The group doesn’t desperately need the items you’re hoping to find. The machine crew might be a little disappointed though. “But don’t get mad when I bring home less than I normally would.”

Black huffs and struts away confidently. Shaking your head, you grab two backpacks and being to pack for two. You’re surprised, isn’t Black the most eager to leave this world?

You park your bike inside the first set of walls at Hugh’s trading post. Rus looks around with a blank look on his face, eyeing the armed guards on the walls. He had already been given the run down of how to behave at the post by you and the consequences for failing to do so. Still, he is surprised when he hears the broadcast of the post rules. These guys have power to expend on such trivial things.

His lord will be most interested in this information.

You’re glad Rus has his hood up. It takes away from the shock of a monster entering the trading post. Several sets of eyes double-take at your companion. The list from your boys sits heavily in your pocket. You’re not sure you’ll be able to clear much off of it with Rus here. Humans are finicky creatures. 

Doing your best to not let it bother you, you slap on your seller face and find a spot to sell your goods. Rus watches you as you lay down an old bed sheet and carefully arrange the goods you brought with. A stacked pile of zucchini, several bars of soap, three brass muffin ingots, and a few random bits of stuff you must have had squirreled away in your shed. You pat a spot next to you. Rus walks over and sits down.

You can feel Hugh’s heated stare at you. He’s not fond of monsters, but if they’re following the rules and not causing trouble, he can’t kick them out of his post. Two small, familiar gasps reach your ears. You discretely look towards Hugh’s counter and see two small figures peaking over. A small grin tugs at your lips. Looks like the twins are here today and are curious. That could work in your favor.

Rus will never admit he has a soft spot anywhere or for anyone, but when he caught sight of the two kids gazing at him, he couldn’t help but wink at them. He almost chuckles when they duck down behind the counter for a moment, before slowly peaking up again. Rus figures the adult male near them is their father. Clearly, daddy isn’t impressed with him. It doesn’t bother him though. He’s been treated worse by humans.

He can feel the hostility in the air. Most of it is directed at him. Rus understands a little bit better now why you don’t take any of the boys with you when you go for trader runs. You have an unnaturally pleasant look on your face. Rus decides he doesn’t like it. 

Today, you make no effort in trying to actively selling your goods. A quick read of the crowd tells you it would be a bad move. Everyone’s on edge at Rus’ appearance, but no one makes a move about it. It’s your least favorite sales tactic, but you’re going to need to rely on someone else to get the tension down.

There’s a scuffling of feet and you watch as Hugh’s twins start to wander around to each of the people selling their wares. A small, more genuine smile sets on your face. Kids are highly protected in the apocalypse. Birth rates are practically non existent and survival of babies are on par with that number. Seeing twin children is like seeing a shooting star. 

Hugh watches his kids with a keen eye. Those two are his world. Hugh’s wife was a strong woman, surviving childbirth. She was killed in a territory scuffle between hunter groups outside of the post a couple of years ago. You didn’t particularly like the woman, but didn’t want her dead either.

Your eyes survey the trading area. Everyone is watching the kids like it’s the best thing they’ve seen in years. They stop to say hi to a woman selling preserved food from last fall. You spy a jar of tomatoes. Sprout and Scout would be thrilled if you could get it. The vendor looks delighted at the kids’ company and gives the children a small jar of carrot sticks. 

The kids look happy at their jar and go to the next person to see if they can snag any other freebies. They’re little freeloaders, but they can get away with it. Children and pregnant women are the best treated people in the apocalypse.

Rus snorts softly watching the kids charm their way into getting free stuff. The little con artists eventually make their way to your little spread of goods. Aaron and Ashley, he hears you call them. 

Outwardly, Rus shows no interest, but is actually surprised when you of all people hand them one of the larger zucchinis from the pile. For free. Rus’ confusion is amplified by the sudden drop in hostility towards him. What...what just happened?

It feels wrong to use kids like this, but you don’t have much of a choice. Aaron and his sister are curious beings and wanted a closer look at Rus. Everyone is watching the encounter, half ready to pump Rus full of lead if he so much as sneezes at the kids. Thankfully, he doesn’t flinch and lets you talk with the kids unhindered. 

The kids walk away happily munching on their new snack and you see the tension drop from the other sellers. By giving the kids one of the biggest zucchini, you made a statement as a seller. You’re in a giving mood and people could probably get a good deal from you today. A favorable turn of events as the atmosphere becomes normal for the trading hub and you spot several eyes looking at your goods from a distance. Now it’s a waiting game to see who gets the courage to approach the human-monster duo first.

“Well, lookie here!” a new voice says, coming up to your spread. “A monster in a place like this. Guess this post must not have much for standards.”

You can hear the soft clicks of safeties being taken off. 

Four guys approach you. Their armed, armored, look well fed and taken care of. A sense of overwhelming confidence at their actions laced with a hint of bloodlust. These are hunters.

“Lady, I’ll trade you a jar of salt for your skeleton freak show,” another hunter snarks. The other three guys laugh. “Only use for monsters is their dust. Great fertilizer. Going to make our crops grow like weeds.”

Bless Rus for not flinching. You’re sure he can tell these guys are completely serious trading him for a jar of salt.

“He’s not up for trade,” you reply, gesturing towards the soap. “But if you got a dust problem, I have several bits of soap I can trade instead.”

“Soap can’t clean up what they’ve dirtied,” responds Rus nonchalant. The hunters' mood shifts. 

Damn it, Rus. You brace yourself. Couldn't he have kept quiet like always?

“You little shit!” 

You keep your head down and continue to reach towards the soap, conveniently placed on Rus’ other side. When the hunter goes to punch Rus, he instead strikes the side of your face. The force knocks you back into Rus’ chest. 

A little dramatic, but the desired results are achieved. 

Bullets are loaded into chambers. 

“The fuck you doin’ in my post, asshole?” growls Hugh, a magnum focuses on the hunter who hit you. Guy’s an asshole to monsters, but thankfully, he’s got a soft spot for good workers.

“This monster fucker got in the way!” defends the hunter a hand on his own gun. Your focus is to the small amount of blood on your cheek. You meet Rus' eyes for a second before focusing on your swelling face.

Rus catches on and his only reaction is to tear off a piece of the blanket and dab off the small amount of blood on your cheek. He wraps your face with a longer strip of cloth. Your surprised at the quality of his first aid. He eyes up the side of your face. Oh, yeah. That’s going to bruise.

The hunter is pissed at the lack of reaction from Rus and points a gun at him. The reaction from the entire trading post is immediate. Every gun is on the hunters, except yours. Rus sees the game you're playing.

“Get the fuck out of my post,” snarls Hugh. “Or we’ll carry you out in pieces. Don’t ever come back.”

“This is bullshit, and you know it!” The hunting party turns to leave the post. “Buck’s going to hear about this.”

You feel ice in your SOUL at the words. You recognize the hunter’s name. Rus is looking at you curiously now, feeling the shift. You grin, seller face back on.

“You ok, sweetheart?” asks Rus. Your facade is still in place.

“Fine,” you state. Rus doesn’t believe you. “Lets try to get this stuff sold, yeah?”

The darkening bruise on your face turns out to be a good selling point. You don’t like cashing in on pity, but you’ll take what you can get. Most of your stock goes, and in return you get five rounds for the rifle, the jar of tomatoes you had eyed up, and an old car battery. 

Not much, but at least you are able to scratch one thing off Scout’s list. Sprout will want to make pasta one of these nights. It’s late afternoon when you and Rus return to the homestead. You hand off the jar of tomatoes to Rus to give to Sprout in the kitchen. He doesn’t move from his spot as you put the battery in the garage. You give him a weak smile before heading to your workshop.

You open the door and place your backpack on the ground. The rifle rounds jingle slightly at the movement. There’s a ringing in your ears. It’s loud.

It’s way too loud.

Buck…

Your chest constricts. 

Your legs burn. 

When did you start running?

“Oh!” says Sprout, seeing Rus. “You’re back! Good!”

“Took you long enough!” scowls Black, cutting up some greens. Happy is grinding something in a bowl.

Rus places the jar of tomatoes on the kitchen table. Sprout looks like he’s in heaven.

“Tomatoes!” cheers Sprout. “An excellent find!”

“Yes, yes,” dismisses Black. “Rus, report.”

“Trader post is about thirty minutes away by motorcycle, m’lord,” reports Rus. “It’s ran by a man named Hugh. He has twin kids, no wife to be seen. Armed with a magnum. The post itself is defensible, has electrical power, but is ruled tightly. Violators of the rules are dealt with quickly, as seen today.”

“Oh!” exclaims Sprout, mixing a large pot on the wood stove. “What happened? Scuffles almost never happen in trader posts.”

“Rus, explain.”

“Yes, m’lord,” continues Rus. “Group of four male humans targeted me. Asked the human if she would trade me for a jar a salt. She refused, counter offered them soap. I said soap can’t wash away the things they’ve done. They swung at me, hit her instead.”

“WHAT?!” shouts Sprout, dropping the spoon into the pot. “She’s hurt?!” 

“Can confirm she did it intentionally. First aid was applied. Bruising will take time, but no lasting damage.”

“O-ok?” says Sprout, unsure. He picks the spoon back up and continues stirring the pot. Sprout doesn’t like you being hurt.

“Continue,” demands Black. 

“Guns were drawn,” says Rus. “The group was kicked from the post. Said someone would hear about this. Human acted weird. We continued trading until we got a car batter for the machine. Came home.”

“The human was acting weird?” inquires Happy, pausing his task. “What do you mean?” Black turns to Rus expectantly.

“Her SOUL pulsed. She had a strong emotion to what the guy said. Guy said, ‘Buck’s going to hear about this.’ and her SOUL pulsed.”

Sprout straightens out to his full height. He spins, hands Happy his spoon and strides quickly out of the kitchen.

“Sprout?” questions Happy in confusion. “Where are you going?”

“I need to find my brother. NOW.”


	24. We're All Running From Something

It’s getting hard to breathe.

Your legs slow as you collapse against a nearby tree, bark grating into your shoulder. It feels like Axe is gripping your SOUL again, but he’s nowhere around. Breathing heavily, you fuzzily look around at your surroundings. You’re having trouble focusing. Not good. You need to calm down, calm your heart. You grab the chest of your torso armor.

You need to _breathe_.

The snap of a twig and you whirl around. Two female zombies are staggering towards you, a third male zombie is almost running at you. You draw your pistol and aim at the runner. The gun shakes unsteadily in your hand, the open sight wobbling violently. A clear shot isn’t possible right now.

Well, shit.

Turning heel, you dash away as quickly as your legs will carry you. There’s a gurgled snarling behind you as you’re being pursued. You’re faster for now, but you’ll need to lose your tail and fast. The sound of running water catches your attention. The river.

That will work.

Using several rocks to carry yourself over most of the river, you leap into the shallow end. Water splashes everywhere and you feel an uncomfortable wetness inside your leather boots. Panting you turn back to see the zombie wading through the river, getting mouthfuls of water as he moans. You take off up river. The zombie wades against the current to try to get to you. 

This area is familiar to you. You slow your pace, relieved the zombie isn’t smart enough to get out of the river to get to you. A dizzy spell makes you stop and hold on to a tree until the world stops swaying.

You’re tackled from behind.

Spitting out a mouthful of dirt and rotting leaves, you wrench your body around as female zombie tries to bite your neck. Thrusting your left arm forward, she chomps down on your arm guard. The pressure from her jaw is immense, but your skin is thankfully not being pierced. Thank the stars for armor. 

Wildly blocking her nails, you kick and roll her off you. Getting a fist full of your hair, the zombie drags you with her. Cold water abruptly covers every inch of your body as the two of you roll into the river. 

You can’t breathe.

“Any luck?” asks Sprout as he approaches Scout. Scout shakes his head, looking out of breath. He’s holding a bloody makeshift bandage.

“She’s not on the property,” Scout says with a frown. He gestures to the strip of cloth in his hand. “Found this by her workshop, along with her backpack.” Sprout clenches his teeth in worry.

“Are you guys done being morons, or are you going to tell us what’s going on?!” scowls Black, crossing his arms while holding a ladle. Rus stands next to him, eye lights lazily gazing over the homestead.

“Yes, I would also like to know what all this racket is about!” growls Edge, jumping down from the roof.

“Biker’s gone,” says Sprout, “and we need to find her right away!”

“What’s the rush?” drawls Stretch, leaning up against the door frame of the garage. Vanilla and Red join him in the doorway. “She can take care of herself. Probably better than anyone else here.”

“The kid’s not exactly a person I’d worry about, either,” comments Vanilla. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“No, she is not fine!” shouts Sprout, his eye lights flashing blood red magic for a second. Vanilla feels blue sweat coat his skull. Everyone straightens up at the sudden spike of hostility. Scout puts a hand on his brother’s back.

“Easy bro,” calms Scout. “We’ll find her.” He turns to the gathered alternates of himself and Papyrus. “Look I know this sounds weird, but Biker’s in a bad state of mind right now. We’ll explain later, after we find her.”

“Is the human missing?” asks Blue as he returns from berry picking. He sets his full basket down on the grass. “I saw her run towards the river as I was getting closer to home. I thought she was just going to quick grab something extra for dinner.”

Hearing this, Scout quickly grabs his brother’s shoulder and they disappear. Vanilla looks down at the ground in thought. He clenches and unclenches his fists a few times before also disappearing. 

Edge scowls at the empty spaces, hating the lack of answers. He sharply turns his upset expression towards Red. Catching his brother’s eye, Red’s skull breaks out into a fresh sweat. He disappears in a crimson blur.

Your soggy boots squeak as you emerge from the water. The knife in your hand dripping with brain matter and river water. Your soaked pistol sits uselessly in it’s holster.

A familiar rock formation brings you a sense of comfort as you slowly walk towards the fishing shelter. Once inside, you strip off your wet torso armor, hoping its removal will allow you to get more air. There is is no change as you shakily gasp for air.

Gripping your shirt collar, you pull it roughly away from you. Curling up in the corner of the shelter, you try to focus on getting your breathing under control. It’s hard as flashes fill your head. You’re no longer aware of your surroundings. Ringing fills your ears.

_A blond haired woman points to words in a book with a patient smile..._

_A scruffy black haired man roughly pats your back in accomplishment as you snipe your first zombie from the wall..._

Ringing...It’s loud…

It’s so loud…

You lurch as a hand touches your leg.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” a familiar voice registers to your ears. “It’s just us. Just ol’ Red and Vanilla.”

Your eyes focus in on the two versions of your Sans. They both look nervous and are apprehensive about approaching you any further. Red retracted his hand so he’s no longer touching you.

It gets harder to breath. You’re hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey!” says Vanilla, crawling into the rock shelter. “Easy, bud. Easy. We got ya. You’re ok. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

In any other situation, you probably would’ve found his words laughable and ironic.

“Ain’t no zombies around,” continues Red, in a low tone you’ve never heard him use before. “Just us. You’re safe here, sweetheart. We gotcha.”

Red and Vanilla watch as you start shaking. You’re not crying...yet...but your SOUL is pulsating in anguish. Pupils are dilated. It’s getting worse, they realize. Sweat coats both their skulls. Vanilla’s hands begin to rattle. Red twitches at the sound.

“Find Scout and Sprout,” demands Red to his alternate. Vanilla’s eye sockets narrow for a second, but nods as he disappears. Still a nervous pile of bones, Red does his best to try to get you to calm down, but it mostly falls on deaf ears. He does note you seem to respond more to certain tones of his voice. Red files that bit of information away for later.

“We’ll take over from here,” says Scout, putting a hand on Red’s shoulder. Red stiffens for a second before nodding and exiting the shelter. Sprout doesn’t fit inside the shelter, but does say a few words to you inside from the mouth of the man-made cavern. Vanilla and Red stand on the riverbank, away from the three of you. 

“She looked like you for a second,” scowls Red.

“Excuse you?” says Vanilla, a small glare on his face. Red snorts as he kicks a rock into the river.

“Don’t fucking play dumb,” huffs Red. “When you’d have those nightmares and wake up in a frenzied panic attack in the corner of your room.”

“Those are different Red, and you know it,” scowls Vanilla. “Don’t act like you don’t have the same thing.”

“Panic attacks are panic attacks,” says Red, ruffling into his sweatshirt’s pockets and pulling out an empty cigarette box. He scowls at the empty box before shoving the box back into his hoodie. Damn, he needs a smoke. “Ain’t give two shits if the causes are different. It’s how you deal with it. The question is what causes a girl like that to lose herself now?”

“I think I can shed some light on that, friends,” says a tired looking Sprout. He sits down on a fallen tree, overlooking the river.

“We’re all ears, bean boy,” says Red as he crosses his arms. Sprout frowns at his brother’s alternate. Red ignores the look and gestures to the rock shelter. “What the fuck is that all about?”

“Classy,” snorts Vanilla, drawing Red’s glare. “Very subtle.”

“Oh?” maliciously grins Red. “Maybe I should act like you and wildly attack my bro when I’m nervous, huh?”

“You fucking—”

“ **Friends** ,” says Sprout, calling their attention. Vanilla and Red pause in their spat as they look at Sprout in annoyance.

“Enough,” says Sprout with a glare. He sighs as he sits down next to his brother’s alternates. “Let me tell you a story…”


	25. Memories of a Child

You couldn’t remember your parents’ faces, but you could remember the settlement you were born in.

Shacks made out of old trailer houses and campers, perfect for small families to live in. Any holes in the walls patched by pieces of scrap wood and rusty sheet metal. There were a few shelters made out of rough and recycled wood nestled between the gaps of the shacks. Several people shared bedding, as there were more people than available beds.

A large community garden, located in the center of the settlement, was carefully tended by the elderly and a few selected children. The produce rotated on the season. Corn, squash, and a few hardy herbs like mint were common. They made up for the nutrition gaps meat couldn’t provide.

A water well that still pumped out clean water was nestled next to the community baths. Old porcelain bathtubs were rigged to recycle the bathwater for the crops and to be used as other non-drinking water. People bathed in pairs or as families. Taking turns dumping each other with water to rinse. Add in people always collecting water at the pump, privacy never happened at the baths. 

A few strings of old Christmas lights lit up the walkways at night, powered by a well-maintained fuel generator. The salty smell of the ocean when the wind blew east. A low roar of many people talking at once. Smokey haze from a large community cook spit and homemade earthen oven, always cooking food and always tended by at least three people.

Sturdy, masonry brick walls, three times the height of the tallest man in the camp. Three guards perched on each side of the walls, watching for threats. They had a saying on the wall, “one shot, one kill.” It was rare to hear more than one shot at any given time. When there were multiple shots, everyone with a gun lined the walls and the air would be filled with the cracks of mass gunfire.

You looked up to the guards. Every child looked up to the guards. They kept home safe. Guards were the job everyone wanted. The most respected position in camp. Only the best shots got to be guards, and training started young. They were usually posted at the wall, but sometimes would go on supply runs, always bringing back tons of useful stuff for the settlement! Nothing was wasted and everything had it’s purpose. 

On a child’s tenth birthday, they were brought to the wall. They were given a loaded rifle with five rounds in it, and a guard kept watch to make sure the child didn’t hurt themselves. If a child took down a zombie in three shots or less, they were considered to become guards and would go through guard training.

On your tenth birthday, armed with a rifle, five rounds, and the head guard himself; you put down your first zombie in two hits. The first bullet landed in the shoulder, the second in the skull. The head guard, a scruffy black haired man, roughly patted your back in accomplishment as you snipe your first zombie from the wall. 

“Whoa, Buck!” said a nearby guard, having witnessed the kill. “Looks like you got a promising shot there!”

Buck grinned as he looked down at you. Your eyes shining up at the man.

“My little lady sure can shoot! Welcome to guard training, little lady.”

You had been so pumped that you passed, and practically sprinted to a blond haired woman, asking if she saw you. Marine looked down at you with a soft smile and something unreadable in her eyes.

“Yes, I saw,” she said with a smile. You were practically vibrating in place. “You looked just like Buck up there when he’s on duty. Same glint in your eye when aiming.”

You took that as the highest praise, being compared to the head guard.

Marine was not your mother, but she filled the role of it. She was pregnant when your parents were killed by zombies, and took you in as a terrible two toddler. Marine always said you were a handful, but never regretted having you around. That the bonds of chosen family are often stronger than those of blood. That spring, her son Quill was born and the three of you were damn near inseparable. A family unit.

Whereas Buck taught you how to shoot, track, and hunt, Marine taught you everything else. She taught you and Quill how to cook, properly clean, make soap, identify some edible plants, make medicine, stitch, and the most important skill, how to read. 

“As long as you can read, the knowledge of the old world is yours to learn,” Marine told you, brightly. “Books can teach you everything you need, if you can get your hands on them.”

Reading time was always at night by candlelight, snuggled up in bed with Marine and Quill. Marine would point to words in a book with a patient smile as you and Quill competed to read the word first. You had two years on Quill, but he always looked so proud when he beat you to a word.

Marine was adamant that you be careful who you shared your ability to read with to.

“The scars of the Mage War are still very fresh,” she had explained, one day. “Many of the people today equate reading ability to mages now. That’s why its hard to find young people who can read. But reading can let you learn so much on your own if you have the material.”

None of the lessons Marine taught you prepared you for the day the guards swarmed her and Quill.

“YOU FUCKING MAGE!” 

You couldn’t have heard that right. Marine, a mage? That was crazy talk! 

So, why wasn’t she denying it? Please...please deny it.

Buck’s gun was pressed against Quill’s head. Marine had three guns trained on her. Quill was sobbing, not understanding what was going on. Kids are supposed to be treated highly, so you were very confused why Buck had his gun to Quill.

Buck called you over. You hesitantly walked up to the group. Marine’s crying, Quill’s crying, the guards are furious. Buck calmly explained that Marine was spotted using healing magic on Quill. That they’re mages who have been lying to you this entire time.

You felt betrayed, confused, and devastated. They’re your family...but mages are the enemy. They’re the reason the world is like this now. Everyone know that.

So why are you frozen when Buck hands you his rifle?

“Kill the mage boy,” he commands you. Adults are not allowed to kill kids, but kids can kill kids. A loop hole in the settlement rules that you’re suddenly very aware of.

“NO!” Marine shouts reaching towards you. She’s smashed into the dirt by a fourth guard, four gun barrels on her head. You saw a small trickle of blood in her beautiful blond hair. “PLEASE DON’T! WE’LL LEAVE! WE’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO MY KIDS!”

_Kid **s**..._

“Hmm…” pondered Buck as he tapped his chin. A sick grin on his face. “Maybe killing you isn’t harsh enough for all the shit you mages did.”

Marine’s face went white.

“Maybe…”

You felt your body go ice cold at the tone.

“After we kill your kid here, we’ll force you to eat him?” Buck doesn’t look like your mentor anymore. His eyes glinted red in blood lust. Was this what Marine meant when she said you looked like Buck? “Seems fair to me after all the pain and starvation you mages caused.”

You felt sick. Why were the guards laughing...why would Buck...that’s not…why…?

There are several rules you can remember from your home settlement. When shooting, one shot, one kill. Never waste as all stuff can be made useful. Adults are never to kill or purposefully harm children. And…

What the guard says goes. Arguing could be punishable by death.

“What are you waiting for, little lady?” Buck asked, in that tone you used to love so much. “That mage boy needs to go. He’s a threat to our settlement. They both are.”

“I-I,” you stuttered, the gun rattled as you shook. You could get a clear shot even if you wanted to. You’re crying. “I can’t…” 

The guards went quiet and Buck’s face became unreadable. You broke a rule. You went against a direct command from the head guard. Rule breakers are punished, usually by death. 

The last thing you saw was Quill’s terrified and sobbing face.

Waking up at all had been a surprise. Every inch of you was naked and bruised. Everything hurt and, as you looked around to your unfamiliar surroundings, everything was gone. There was no doubt in your mind that Marine and Quill were dead. 

You sobbed as you followed an old tar road you woke up beside. Naked, alone, and no longer in the safety of the walls. You’re stomach rumbled in hunger. An unarmed child in the zombie apocalypse. 

You were going to die out here.

An old house came into view from the road. You wiped the tears and snot away from your face. No, you’re going to live. Buck wanted you to die out here. So you’re not going to. You’re going to live.

Approaching the house, you quietly snuck up to the front door and pressed your ear to the door. No sounds. Gulping, you walked around to a window and peered inside. No movement. No sign of tracks in the dusty floor. Looking around, you found a rock on the ground. Picking it up, you broke the glass and hid.

No sounds. No movement.

You walked back to the door and took a nervous step inside. Door closed behind you, you slowly and carefully checked every room, nook and cranny in the house. It was empty. Thank heavens.

The house was pretty empty, but you were able to make do with a few of the scraps inside. Out of an old curtain, you ripped a whole for your head and made a quick dress out of it, using a leftover strip to tie it closed around your waist. You used the other curtain to make a carrying bag that would double as a blanket to keep you from freezing to death at night. 

There was an old can of green beans hidden in the back of the pantry. As hungry as you were, you decided to hold off on it for now and placed it in your bag. You twisted the leg off of a broken chair and took it with you. A weapon was a weapon. 

You spy another house from the window. With a tight grip on you bag and chair leg club, you made your way to the next house.

You won’t die...not here...not today.


	26. Recharge

For the first time in a long time, you sleep in. Exhaustion from your panic attack had wore you out. Scout and Sprout are both gone by the time you open your eyes. You’ve sprawled out at some point to take maximum mattress space. The sun is high in sky. 

You feel like shit.

A rumble comes from your stomach. You had missed dinner and breakfast. There’s not a drop of energy in you today. Stretching out, you sprawl further on the mattress while staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. 

Are you allowed to take days off now? There’s plenty of skeletons to do the work now, so is it alright if you have a lazy day? When’s the last time you had a lazy day?

When’s the last time you wanted to have a lazy day?

A soft knock at the door catches your attention.

“It’s open,” you say, making no moves to change your sprawled position.

“Oh, good!” Happy says as he peaks his head in with a smile. “You’re awake! I hope you rested well!”

“Eh…” you start, “still feel like I could sleep more.”

Happy’s smile twitches into a frown for a moment.

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” he says calmly, sitting next to you on the mattress. He places a bowl of something on the night stand with a familiar cup of rose scented tea. “You missed lunch, but we saved you a portion. My brother thought the tea we made might be a good idea, so I made a batch with Blue’s help.”

“Thanks, Paps,” you say, not realizing your slip-up at first. It hits you as you grab the bowl of soup. “Er...Happy.”

Happy looks rather pleased at the slip-up. You suppose it’s been a while since anyone besides his brother has called him something close to his real name. It crosses your mind to call the skeletons by their real names more often when you’re with them one-on-one. Taking a sip of the lukewarm soup, you note the salted venison was never boiled and drained first to get rid of the heavy salt taste. The entire soup tastes of salt. 

“Who was on lunch duty today?” you ask, eating a spoonful of liquid salt.

“Blue and I cooked lunch today!” Sprout said, chest puffing out in pride. Oh, please don’t ask— “How does it taste?”

The ocean is less salted than this soup.

“Salty from the venison,” you say. Happy appears to take the criticism well. “We usually do a pre-boil of the salted meats to lower the sodium content for the preserved meats.” You tap your chin in thought. “Though I suppose Sprout and I usually start that task right away in the morning, so you guys probably didn’t know about it.”

“Thank you for your honesty, friend!” says a smiling Happy. For a second, Happy and Sprout’s faces blur together for you. You shake your head and being to rapidly down the rest of the soup. “The others like to tell us that it’s wonderful, as if we don’t notice the disappearing plates and pulses of magic.”

“Wait,” you frown, “did the others _waste_ their food?”

“Not at all!” waves Happy. “They tried to pull one over on the great Happy, and stuck theirs back into the pot! Or at least most of them did. Blue, myself, Scout, Sprout, Axe and Hunter all finished our bowls with no issue.”

You’re not surprised.

“Sounds like we’ll have soup again for dinner,” you say, placing your empty bowl down and picking up the cup of tea. “Salty food is something that can be fixed.”

“If the others had been more open about it, Blue and I could have corrected the salt level,” huffs Happy. You smile a bit. “I’m more surprised that Sprout and Scout didn’t say anything about the food. They're usually very honest.”

“Yeah,” you smile, gently. Happy looks in awe at your face. “But they’re softies. Probably saw how much effort you and Blue put into the food and didn’t want to discourage you. Though, I am surprised Sprout wasn’t supervising.”

“After breakfast the me of this world was aggressively weeding his gardens,” informs Happy. “He usually is very relaxed when in his garden, but he did seem off today.”

A frown pulls at your lips. You’ll need to go let him know you’re doing better.

“Also…”

You sip the rose petal tea. It’s fresher than you expect. Happy must have just made the batch right before seeing you. It’s a surprisingly lovely tea. Sighing contently, you glance over to your companion. He’s wringing his gloved hands together nervously.

“My brother and the others who found you…”

Taking another slow sip, you gaze steadily at Happy. You have a feeling you know where this is going.

“Please do not be angry with them!” he says, grabbing your free hand. He looks distraught. “They shared your childhood story with us last night. I am sorry to hear that happened to you, but they should have let you tell us your story on your own terms! It was not right of them to share something like that!”

Your face fills with confusion.

“Why are you apologizing?” you ask, tilting your head. “I asked Sprout to make sure you all knew.”

“Wait, what?”

“When Sprout was checking on me at the river,” you clarify. “I asked him to tell you what I know about...Buck. If he is in the area, we need to be all on the same page, armed with the same information. His current crew is openly against monsters and…”

You stare off blankly for a moment. 

“...and?” Happy encourages, softly.

“And,” you continue, coming back to reality. “I will not have my family taken from me again.”

Happy engulfs you in tight bear hug. A bit of tea spills out of the cup and onto your knee. With your free hand, you pat Happy’s armored back.

“I realize I have not reached that level with you…” starts Happy. You hear him sniffle and pat his back a bit more firmly. “But knowing that there is someone out there in any of the universes that would call my brother and I family is a joy to hear.”

You continue to sip your tea and pat the skeleton’s back.

It’s late afternoon when you finally emerge from the house.

Sprout is the first to notice and waves you over to the garden he is tending with Blue. Blue calls your actual name in excitement as you approach. Hearing your real name from the alternate makes you feel stronger. An odd experience, perhaps this is why Happy was so thrilled at your slip-up.

“It’s good to see you back to your old self,” smiles Sprout. You return his smile.

“I’m getting there,” you say, honestly. You plop down onto your knees next to the two skeletons and begin to help weed the second garden. The first garden looks great and free of weeds. This garden still had about a fourth left to be weeded.

You need to be near your boys right now. Scout is most likely with the machine crew in the garage, and you’re not feeling up to being around so many monsters right now. Blue you can deal with.

“Oh!” says Blue, remembering something. “Wait here! I’ll be right back!” Sprout and yourself watch as he bounds away towards the house. You roll your shoulders as you feel them finally relax.

“How are you, really?” asks Sprout, keeping his eyes on his weeding. 

“Worried,” you say with a scowl. “Part of me hoped he would have died in the fifteen years since I last saw him.”

Sprout says nothing as he listens.

“And worse yet,” you continue, angrily ripping out weeds. “If we want to finish that machine, we’ll need to make supply runs for parts. Trader runs, too. I can try to salvage from a town in the opposite direction from Hugh’s, but that’s no guarantee, since they have wheels, too! Damn hunters could be holed up anywhere!”

“Um…” you hear someone clearing their throat. You turn to see Blue awkwardly holding out a small basket full of red and orange berries. 

“It’s not an answer to our problems,” starts Blue with a small, cautious grin. “But perhaps a snack break will help us relax?”

The three of you sit off to the side of the gardens and snack on the salmonberries and few thimbleberries mixed in. While the berries taste wonderful on your tongue, you can’t help but feel nervous about the future.


	27. Brothers' Blowout

Hooking up your trailer to your bike, a look of annoyance crosses over your face. You can hear the shouting match from the basement from outside. With Axe on patrol, you’re not too worried about wandering zombies, but the fact the argument has been going on for an hour now is beginning to test your patience.

Thankfully, you’re making a scavenging run today and won’t have to hear it much longer. Checking over your motorcycle, you feel a wave of contentment wash over you. It will be nice to get away from the loud brothers.

You’re not sure what crawled up Red and Edge’s ass, but ever since breakfast, those two have yelling at each other. Red had been sweating at breakfast. Nothing unusual, from what you’ve seen. The skeleton always seems to be breaking out in a nervous, red sweat. Edge, to no one’s surprise, started the argument. The few snippets of the argument you catch don’t make a whole lot of sense to you. Sounds like their worried about each other, but can’t communicate it without yelling and swearing for some reason.

The conclusion you make from the argument is they want to leave this world immediately. Not that you blame them. Your world is shit in comparison to almost all of the alternatives’. With one exception, of course. You nod to Axe as his red eye focuses on you from the roof. His watchful eye follows you as you walk into the garage.

“Hey,” you greet the machine crew, not looking at any of them. Instead, you’re eyes focus on a piece of paper you pull out of your pocket. Scout had given you an updated parts list at breakfast today. Several new items include an intact bicycle and several car parts, with an emphasis on car batteries and an engine. You wonder if Scout is thinking about making a man—er...skeleton powered generator to charge the batteries.

Mumbled greetings echo back to you. The skeletons are in a sort of meeting discussing a level of physics and multiverse theory you don’t understand. Motorcycles and mechanics you can understand, multiverse theory? Not so much.

Looking at the wall of tools, you grab several tools and secure them in your backpack. If all goes well, you’ll be breaking down a car today. With a quick wave to the boys, you quickly exit the garage to leave them to their discussion.

You sit on your bike with the engine idling. Running through a final mental checklist, a bang startles you into putting a hand on your pistol. An angry Edge marches straight to you, the door vibrating behind him from the slam. Removing your hand from your gun, you raise an eyebrow at the leather clad skeleton. Did Edge want something? You note he has his sword and a backpack on. He plops down on the back of your bike with crossed arms. 

“Drive,” he growls through a clenched jaw. 

You snort, he could’ve just asked you if he wanted to come with.

Kicking up the stand, you take off with your last minute companion in tow.

Any chance of a quiet drive is crushed by Edge’s complaining about his brother. Whatever happened between Edge and Red has gotten to him. You can’t hear too many specifics over the wind whipping by, but you pick up the concerned tone in Edge’s voice.

It makes you feel like you’re missing something important.

The drive to a town is longer than usual. If hunters are in the area, you want to make an effort to put as much space between them and yourself. Edge doesn’t seem to care you’re not heading towards Ebott, but does notice the state of the town the two of you pull into. To your relief, Edge finally stops talking as he takes in the destroyed and decaying buildings.

The wooden welcome sign to the town is rotten and hard to read. The only hint of the town name is the “A” at the beginning. Edge could think of several possibilities of what town this is, but in the end, couldn’t put his finger on it.

This town is incredibly small in comparison it Ebott. No large buildings to raid, mostly a tourist town for the mountain with several hotels and rental cabins. You hope that will deter any hunters, but it also means less resources. Thankfully, cars are pretty easy to find in towns, regardless of size. 

Passing by several old lodging buildings, you finally find a mostly intact car near a rundown general store. Slowing down, you park right up next to the car. It’s incredibly rusted and all the tires are flat, but hopefully the stuff under the hood will be still in good shape.

Edge pulls out his sword and glares at the few buildings and streets. You’re glad you don’t have to tell him to watch his back. 

Walking around the car, you look inside through the cracked windows. Rotting trash sits on the floor of the car. Nothing special inside, but you could probably rip apart the seats for springs if there’s time. All the doors are locked. Setting your backpack on your bike, you pull out an adjustable socket wrench. Walking to the driver’s door, you smash the wrench into the window.

The shattering of glass echos through the ghost town. You pause and look around cautiously.

It’s eerily quiet. No immediate sounds of moment.

You can work with that.

Unlocking the door, it creaks loudly as you open it.

Glass shatters from the general store as a body falls through the window of the top floor. Edge and yourself jump back, weapons drawn. You ignore the pain in your elbow, accidentally thumping it against the car door in your surprise. The smack of the body hitting the pavement and the clang of the fallen socket wrench pierces through the air. 

The small town is suddenly bustling with hungry zombies.

“Looks like the entire town came to play,” you say, pulling out your knife with your free hand. Despite the numbers, the zombies are scattered instead of grouped together. A small mercy.

“As if these vile cretins have a chance against the GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS!” shouts Edge, lunging forward and beheading the nearest zombie. 

“Don’t stop moving!” you command, jabbing your blade through the eye socket of a teenage she-zombie. Foul blood and bodily juices coat your hand. “Keep them scattered. If they group up, we’re fucked!”

Edge scowls at the command, but keeps moving as he cuts down an additional two zombies. The constant momentum makes slicing heads off easier. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Edge appears to be well-versed in handling groups of enemies. It reminds you of your run with Black. Like Black, he appears to be letting off steam as he mows through zombie after zombie. Unlike Black, he doesn’t appear to be enjoying the fight.

Snapping back to the fight, you shove your knife through another zombie’s skull, but the blood coating your hand makes it difficult to pull out the knife. A male zombie in a ragged button down shirt comes at you from your blind spot. You fire your pistol through his forehead just as he grips your arm. With a twist, you free your knife from the corpse and run to the next zombie.

An empty pistol clip later, you find yourself back-to-back with Edge. Ten zombies left to go. You’re both panting, even though your skeletal companion doesn’t have lungs. Your arms are tired, but there are no breaks in a horde. Lunging away from each other, you and Edge each strike down another zombie. A growl too close to your face causes you to drop and roll away as teeth snap where your neck was a moment before. A quick jab to the zombie’s knee slows him down just enough to spring away.

Edge blurs by, decapitating the zombie and focusing on the final three zombies. You’ll admit, having Edge in your corner is pretty handy. Falling one last zombie with your knife, Edge finishes off the remaining two with quick slashes. The town becomes quiet again, save for a pair of panting.

Wordlessly dragging yourselves back to the bike, you both plop down on the ground, leaning against the car. Both of you could use a thorough scrubbing and clean clothes. Out of your bag, you pull out a jar of water and hand it to Edge. His face is neutral as he grabs it and takes a large drink out it. He passes it back to you. You drain half of the remaining water inside before placing the jar between the both of you. 

The warm, but rancid smelling, summer breeze feels cool against your drenched skin. 

As you rest, you reach into a hidden breast pocket of your torso armor. Edge watches as you pull out a single, damp bullet. Wiping it off on your hip, you slowly load the bullet into your pistol. Clicking on the safety, you holster your gun and sigh. Time to get back to work. 

Picking up the abandoned socket wrench, you bend down into the car and pop the hood. The rusty hood makes an awful screeching as it is lifted up. Thankfully most of the nearby zombies are already dealt with.

Removing the corroded battery is the easy part. The engine, however, will take time. As you loudly work to free the engine of the car, Edge patrols around the immediate area. Any twitching bodies are dealt an additional stab to the head, insuring they stay down. 

“Oi,” you call, Edge frowns in your direction. “Think you could hoist up this car with bit of magic? I need to get the rest of the bolts from the underside.”

Edge squints at you.

“How the hell were you planning on doing this by yourself?” huffs Edge as he summons eight red bones. The car is lifted to your height. 

“A lot more complicated than this,” you reply with a grin, walking under the car. Edge rolls his eyes at you. “Filthy under here. Don’t drop it on me.”

“Are you questioning my abilities, human?!” screeches Edge. “I’ll have you know, I’ve done—!”

You’re sure Edge would have your head if he found out you’ve tuned him out. Instead of listening to him boast about his superior abilities, you focus on the car and making sure you don’t accidentally drop an engine on your head. That’s a bit more pressing than Edge’s tale of how he became captain of the royal guard.

“Are you listening, human?!” hisses Edge. He has one socket dark and one eye light fixated on you.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hum in agreement. Edge accepts this and continues on with his tale of how he defeated Undyne. Had he questioned you about his story, you knew you wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Then that fool of a brother of mine—”

“Hey, Papyrus,” you say cutting him off. The last bolt is loose and you step out from under the car. “Mind helping me lift out the engine? You can do it a lot easier than I can.”

When you don’t hear a reply, you look over at Edge. He’s staring at you with wide eye sockets. Red magic is glowing on his bones. Oh, right. Edge has never heard you call him by his real name before. You wonder when the last time someone has called him by his real name.

“You good over there?” you ask, tilting your head in his direction. Edge snaps out of his daze and clears his throat.

“Of course, I can lift that better than you! I’m the Great and Terrible Papyrus, after all! Nyeh heh heh!” darkly laughs Papyrus. You hum nonchalantly as he puts the car back on the ground and uses his bone attacks to lift and slide the engine into the trailer.

With the engine secured, you hastily rip out the accessible electrical components from the dashboard and the dusty radio. You carefully remove the fuses from the panel in the glove compartment and secure them in small jar. All the light bulbs from the headlights and blinkers are taken, along with their wires. Going through a taillight, you’re able to open the trunk with the emergency release. The trunk is full of mice nests, however, there is a set of good condition jumper cables that you toss into the trailer.

Car parts secured, you look into the general store through the now broken windows. Edge walks over and looks at you. Pulling out the crinkled list from your pocket, you give it a quick look over. 

“What are the chances of a mountain trail general store having bicycles?” you question out loud. Edge doesn’t answer your question as he walks over the broken window glass and into the store. You follow behind quietly.

This store looks outdated, even for an apocalypse. However, there are still a few items in the aisles. The general store is mostly geared towards camping, and the camping supplies have been mostly cleaned out. Same goes for the food and medicine. You do find two bottles of sealed oil, which are immediately shoved into your bag. 

The highlight of the store is the sign in the back advertising bike rentals. Most of them are rusted in the chains and spokes, but you grin as Edge breaks the security chain on the bike and brings it outside. Scout and the machine crew will be thrilled. While the rest of the store is picked over, you do find some intact dishware. Six plates, four mismatched coffee mugs, and four sets of forks and spoons. It will be nice to have some spares in the house. Edge scowls, but carefully packs the items into his bag.

Bags full and the bike secured in the trailer, you and Edge make your way back to the homestead. Both of you content and greatly looking forward to a bath.


	28. Red's Illness: Part I

Dusk falls as you and Edge pull up next to the garage. Your skin feels uncomfortably tight from mixed dried sweat, zombie blood and gore. A bath and a change of clothes and you’ll feel like a new person. As you cut the engine to the bike, Blue bursts forth from the house, sprinting towards you two.

His face is panicked.

“You’re back! It’s—wait, what happened to you?!” shouts Blue, seeing the messy state you’re in.

“Fought off a town,” you reply. “What’s up?”

“Red collapsed!” shouts Blue as he nears you. You see Edge stiffen straight up for a moment.

“Explain,” commands Edge, his royal guard training showing. 

“After you left he couldn’t stop sweating!” rambles Blue. “We kept giving him water, but it didn’t help. When the shaking started, Vanilla gave him several cups of his tea, but it didn’t help at all. He can’t keep food down, he’s rattling, and…”

“And what?!” snaps Edge, towering over Blue. Blue takes a step back.

“His SOUL is trembling,” says Blue, softly. Edge looks frozen in place. “Happy and I have been trying to use healing magic on him, but it only temporarily stops it. We’re not sure what else to do.”

Edge snaps out of his daze and starts taking long strides to the house. You catch his hand, holding him back.

“LET GO OF ME!” he snaps, wrenching his hand out of your grip. “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOU.”

“Your covered in blood and guts!” you snap back. “Do yourself a favor and wash off before letting Red see you like this!”

You don’t give him time to respond.

“Blue,” you command. “Get Sprout and tell him we need two sets off clean clothes. One of his and one of mine. We’ll be out by my shed.”

“On it!” he says, sprinting back to the house.

“You!” you command, looking Edge in the eye. “If Red is sick, us bringing potentially hazardous material into the house will NOT help. It could make him worse. We’re GOING to clean off and THEN you can see Red. Do I make myself clear?”

Edge looks furious, but he doesn’t reply as he stops off towards the shed. You jog ahead and grab two clean buckets from your shed and fill them with rainwater. Normally you would heat the water over the stove, but there’s no time for that. You set the buckets out by Edge before grabbing two rags and a bar of soap.

“Strip,” you command. 

“E-EXCUSE YOU?!” demands Edge. 

“Sooner we get you clean the sooner you can go to your brother,” you explain. “ **Strip**.”

“I am not taking off my armor around a damn huma—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” 

You ignore Edge as you strip off your dirty armor pieces and fling them onto a tree branch.

“Toss your dirties onto a branch,” you say, unbothered. “We’ll get those cleaned in the morning.”

Edge stares at you with an open jaw as you remove your leather bracers and go for your shin guards.

“Today, Edge,” you state, trying to get him to hurry.

“TCH! Fine!” he scowls, removing his armor. He looks annoyed and very uncomfortable.

You don’t wait for him to remove his shirt and pants before throwing a bucket of water at him.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FO—?!”

You cut Edge off by shoving the bar of soap and cloth in his face.

“Less talk, more scrub,” you state before drenching yourself with the other bucket of water. Your clothes stick to your skin as you scrub your exposed arms and face. Edge looks increasingly more agitated, but he does start scrubbing himself with the soap.

“I’ve brought you clothes!” says Sprout, coming from around the shed. Edge scowls at his alternate. Sprout looks unbothered as he sets the clothes down in a dry spot. He grabs the empty buckets and refills them with rainwater. Sprout makes sure to place a bucket near each of you before leaving back to the house. Sprout's quick departure encourages you to clean faster. 

Realizing he'll need to remove the rest of his clothes, Edge turns to glare and shout at you, only to whip himself around. You had stripped off your shirt and pants. 

“Do you have no shame?!” screeches a red-faced Edge. 

“What? I turned away from you,” you say, unbothered. “When I was young, everyone bathed in pairs. It’s not weird here. I won’t look at you. I know your worlds are more sensitive to being seen naked.”

Edge’s scowl didn’t leave his face as he stripped off the remainder of his clothes. _Sensitive?!_ The Great and Terrible Papyrus was NOT sensitive! He occasionally looked over his shoulder. True to your word, you make no attempts to peak at him. Edge feels more annoyed, but makes record time cleaning himself.

You only turn around when you hear steps swiftly moving away from you. Edge—still wet, but wearing fresh clothes—disappears into the house as you dry off. Throwing on the clean clothes, you ignore the buckets and armor. Instead, you sprint to the house. You’ll clean up later, this is more important right now.

Red looks awful as he sleeps on the dirty couch. There are shadows under his eye-sockets and he is just as sweaty as he was this morning. He looks uncomfortable, but you can’t tell if he’s in pain. Red's breathing is heavy. Edge is sitting next to his brother, keeping a watchful eye on him. You recall something Red once told you.

_“Docs wouldn’t be able to help anyway.”_

Is this what he was worried about with Sprout?

Everyone has gathered into the living room, watching Red. Happy pumps a bit more healing magic into Red’s chest.

“I’m not sure what else I can do,” sighs Happy, sitting on the floor next to Edge. 

“He needs monster food,” frowns Edge. “It’s what’s been keeping his SOUL stable. He hasn’t had any since coming to this world.”

You and Scout look at each other with winces on your faces.

“That’s not going to be easy,” sighs Scout, plopping down onto the floor. “But not impossible.”

Edge glares at Scout to continue.

“The mountain trading post,” he continues. “The only trading post that is ran by monsters. It’s actually inside the Underground. Not many monsters survived the horde that came with the barrier breaking, but the ones that did divided out into two groups. Those that left the mountain, and those that locked themselves in the MTT Resort. They fortified it pretty good.”

“And if his body is rejecting solids,” you say quietly, “he’ll need some-sort of liquid. That doesn’t give us many options.”

“Sea Tea,” confirms Scout with a nod. “It’s our best bet for Red since it affects the SOUL quickly. Spider Cider would work, too.”

“It’s going to be expensive,” you frown. “Monster food doubles as medicine for humans, making it highly valuable. It’s the reason the Trader’s allowed the mountain post into their union. To get a steady supply of it.”

“So what’s the plan?” asks Stretch, leaning against a wall.

“At this point?” you question. You run your hand through your wet hair. “Ensure Red makes it through the night. That’s top priority. Then in the morning, Scout and I are going to make a trip to the mountain, see if we can barter us some monster beverages.” You stand up. “I’m going to go check our supplies, see what we can part with.”

You bring a lit candle with you as you make your way outside. It’s pitch black out without the moon. Walking into your shed, you slowly wave the candle around, counting curing soaps and herbs. Not that these would sell well to the post. It’s pretty common knowledge that the mountain trader puts their value on food, energy, and weapons. They don’t go through soap quickly and human medicine is relatively ineffective to them. 

You don’t want to be dipping into the preserved food already, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll have a choice. The jars of nettles, rhubarb and dandelion jelly might need to be traded...might have to give them the car battery you got today, too. 

“Hey,” says a soft voice behind you. You turn and give a tired look to Scout. “Any luck?”

“We’re fucked,” you sigh. “If we're lucky, we can probably score one Sea Tea, but I don't think that will be enough for Red. We'll need to make sure he gets a steady supply of it, too. Our best bet is to hand over most of our food preserves and the car battery we got today. Even then, they might not accept the trade.” You grin weakly to Scout. “That’s where you’ll need to come in. They’re more likely to give you a better deal than me.”

“I’ll be there,” he agrees. “Might be able to convince them to trade services for supplies." Scout pauses his train of thought as he gets a good look at your face. "You ok?”

“No,” you say, sitting down on an upside down bucket. You hold your head in your hands as you begin to ramble. “I don’t know jack shit about how this multiverse thing works, but I’m terrified if Red dusts, you’ll dust, too. He’s you...well, NOT you, but also you? I don’t want you or Paps to die. If one of you goes, do all of you go? I don’t want to find out. I CAN’T find out…”

“Hey,” Scout puts a hand on your shoulder. He looks uneasy, but is trying to smile. “Breathe, ok? Don’t worry about that right now. Red’s alive. Let’s focus on keeping him that way, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you agree. You take several slow, deep breaths.

“There we go,” encourages Scout, gently rubbing your back. “So, what our plan to maximize Red surviving the night?”

“If he was human, I’d say keep him hydrated,” you mumble, glancing over at your dried herbs. “But he’s not sweating out water, he’s sweating magic. I guess keep the boys who can use healing magic on a rotation to keep him stable without wearing themselves out? Maybe…”

Scout watches as you start seriously looking through your herbs. Sprout and him were already making sure Red had the help he needs to make it through the night, but he needed you to focus on something else. Scout didn't want to admit it, but he is pretty stressed about the very real possibility that if Red dusts, he and the other Sans' will too.

“I should have saved some deer velvet,” you scowl. “Could have used it to boost him, but can’t do anything about that now. Yarrow might help, but it’s more for flu and fevers...not sure how well it would work for this. Maybe something pleasant that would be ‘SOUL soothing?’ But he’s already tried Vanilla’s tea…maybe a yarrow and salmonberry infusion?”

In the end, you don’t really have a good solution to Red’s sickness. Not much a human can do about a SOUL illness, anyway. When you return to the house, you encourage Blue to mash some berries and mix it with warm water to get some calories in Red. He keeps the berry juice down, but doesn’t look any better.

Dawn can’t come quick enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cruel World, Cruel Reality.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26174092) by [ShepherdV2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShepherdV2/pseuds/ShepherdV2)
  * [Deadtale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408199) by [Zozo_nope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zozo_nope/pseuds/Zozo_nope)




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